The Archives Dismantled, Book One: A Proper Handshake
by zbeewritingz
Summary: The ripple effect of a soldier who chose to disobey her orders. Torn apart by time and space and bad decisions, she thought she was finally going to die. Only she didn't. Now she was stuck with a mad man, his marvelous blue box, and an assortment of companions who seemed to know her; the strangeness challenged only by her new habit of slipping between the cracks of reality itself.
1. A Chat Between Soldiers

**PLEASE READ!**

**A/N: Hey everyone, this is the beginning to an idea I had when I started re-watching **_**Doctor Who.**_ **I've been outlining and planning for months now.** **A really big inspiration for this story is the _Wanderer of Time_ fanfic series written by Tinker16. If you haven't already, please check it out. The story is incredible. While it is an inspiration, I have tried very hard to make this story my own and have no intention of copying their work in any way. If it seems that way, please let me know and I will work harder on changing things as I don't want to steal anyone else's work.**

**I have revised this chapter, for any returning readers, and have made some important changes. Please reread this section before moving onto the next chapter. I plan on long chapters, likely splitting most episodes into two parts, but we'll see how it goes. I'm going to try to update as much as I can this week and next week before going on another brief hiatus because I will be starting up classes again and will be in the process of moving.**

**Thank you to all of the readers thus far! I'm really excited to share the story of the Archiver with you guys.**

**And to any readers of my _Peaky Blinders_ story, _Lilies Growing in my Shoes_, I am terribly sorry for the lack of updates. I lost some inspiration with that story, but I am trying to get it back through some revising and thorough planning of the story. I will return to it eventually!**

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Something heavy settled like a blanket of ash over the singed red grass and scattered debris. The weight of silence cracked with wails of sorrow and loss, of horrors too sacred. The battles, the genocide, the breadth of an army left broken and desolated. Ending in all the ways a soldier's life could, in shrapnel and bright flashes of pain. Life after life cut in sacrifice, in misplaced hope, in a sovereign duty. Lives that were used, built upon the shudders of war. This war, terrible and cruel and infinite.

One such soldier, a wilting silhouette surrounded by her fallen comrades, wiped a stray drop of blood trailing from the corner of her mouth. It slipped between her fingers, sticky and wet. A rather mournful grin stretched her lips.

"This is it," she rasped, a cough bubbling in her throat. There's some kind of gun dangling at her side. "This is my end, right? The war collapses in on itself, infinitely, but I stop here." Her smile was crooked. Tears left clear tracks through the dirt on her cheeks. There was a strange sort of hope in her words.

Eyes sweeping over the unmoving bodies littered around her, she could only blink. They didn't care about her, she knew. And she shouldn't have cared to see them dead, but her hearts ached at so much lost life. At a race decimated by the never-ending war. She had played a part in this destruction. And she knew she had defied an order. This was – fittingly, she supposed – her punishment, to die surrounded by those she had hoped to save.

Taking a tentative step forward, she realized she couldn't feel her leg. The twisted foot dragged uselessly behind her, pulling dirt with the sole of her boot.

A being of metal, destructive and deadly, though she secretly equated them to glorified pepper pots, watched her limp. Bedazzled in bronze and gold with special crockery attachments and a single eye. The socket shined blue as it swiveled back and forth. "I. Have. No. Response." Its voice, mechanical and haunting, slid across her spine like a razor and drew blood from her ear drums.

Debris crunched as she attempted another step. There was ash in her hair and in her lungs. She wheezed. Shards of metal and torn apart circuits cut into the planet, her fallen enemies. Probably acting as some kind of metaphor, though she didn't dwell on that triviality. The white snow was now masses of dirty sludge, slicking the battlefield in the wake of running soldiers.

Gallifrey had always been surprisingly cold, even with the second sun in the south.

She huffed, chest heavy. "Oh, you never quite do. You have your own agenda, as we all do. Though yours has always been much more…genocidal." She waved a singularly gloved hand, flippantly turning away from the creature. Two fingers, her pinky and ring finger, were missing and blood dripped down her arm. "Your kind is dwindling, as is my own. Tell me, Dalek, what was the purpose of this war? Who started it? When did it truly start? The details are foggier than they should be, given my career among my people. I think this fight is all I've truly known, even when I tried to run. I ran so far, and I always came back to this, this one moment. Maybe I've been chasing it, maybe we all have."

The Dalek's head turned, following her. Its power destructor, the whisk-like laser where the left arm should be, spun but never quite settled on the soldier. "I. Do. Not. Understand. These. Questions." But it seemed to be thinking, trying to find the answers.

Her head tilted. Her hands were shaking, though they'd been shaking for centuries. It was always a task, getting her hands to still. "The Superior Race," she started, blank and logical. It could have been mocking, if not for the way her eyes glazed and her lips thinned. "The race that wants for nothing but power. A species of self-proclaimed divinity. All others beneath them, imperfect."

Grunting as she crouched, the soldier dropped her gun. She never liked the weight of it in her palm, pinching her fingers. She looked up at the sky, once so beautiful in the light of two suns, now muddied with smoke and death.

In an attempt to run her fingers through her hair, to ease her headache, she winced as they caught on the blood and ash coating the bronze layers twisted down her back. What was left of her fingers came away gritty and sticky.

"It's ironic, and actually quite sad," she hummed, licking the salt and iron from her lip. "For, have I preached the pledge of the Daleks? Or the Time Lords?"

Her hearts beat erratically in her chest, regardless of her outer calm. One was too slow, the other much too fast to compensate. The rhythm was three instead of four and never lined up properly. She could feel the movement of her world, or what was left of it, still turning beneath her knees.

The rocks crackled as the Dalek slid up next to her. "Daleks. Are. Superior." It recited, practiced and sure of the stance of the Dalek race.

Maybe, she thought, but maybe not. Resigned, she leaned back on her heels and struggled to stand. Her damn leg, limp and bloody and useless. She managed to balance anyway.

"Do you know who I am?" She asked, albeit randomly. But she was curious, for why hadn't the Dalek killed her yet? Spare fingers interlaced at the base of her neck, and she supported her head as she gazed at the sky. She could see every dwindling life curving around every withering star.

Her eyes ached, dry and strained, but she didn't look away. Life deserved a witness.

Her wrists cramped as she tried to still her trembling. She couldn't feel the wind as it swept across her face, but strands of her hair rippled across her shoulders.

"An. Enemy." It said, like that's all there was. But, then again, she was speaking to a Dalek. Everything different was wrong. Was an enemy to be destroyed.

"Yes, yes I suppose you're right," She responded, shoulders falling. "But you're an intelligent being, I know you can narrow it down a bit." Her lips cracked and split as she attempted a rueful smile. It was small, sad, and gone quickly.

For some reason, it obliged. "A. Time. Lord."

Brow furrowed, her gaze shifted towards the Dalek out of the corner of her eye. "What am I to you, Dalek? You, and your race." Her voice was firm, even as iron boiled in her throat.

"A. Weapon." It complied, again. Something wasn't right.

She frowned, lowering her hands and turning towards the Dalek. "I was a weapon for my people, just as all other Time Lords. We are made that way. It's a title we earn, a rank among council…of sorts. No." She shook her head, as intimidating as she was stoic, though limp and shaking. "You know more than you're letting on, holding this information hostage, like an advantage. What do you know about me, Dalek? And, why haven't you killed me?"

The Dalek twisted back and forth, almost anxiously. "You. Are. Nothing. More. Than. A. Nuisance." And while that may have been true, it didn't answer her questions.

Her eyes shifted, lids drooping. The gold flecks in her irises flickered amongst the brown. Looking down at her scuffed arms and bruised wrists, she sighed. Something rattled in her chest with every breath. She was suddenly very tired. "I don't remember a time when my hands were steady," she whispered. Air wheezed from her lungs and through her broken nose as she tried to breathe. "I don't remember the last time I talked this much. Surely a few decades, at least. I don't remember much about who I am, or was, outside of my obligations. There's just not enough room for it all. Too much input, not enough storage capacity. I write most of it down, so I don't forget. I remember quite a bit of blood though, and lots of running. Like now."

"You. Are. Dying." The Dalek spoke matter-of-factly. How observant.

"Yes, I think so," she nodded, feeling the shuddering of her throat. Her ribs cracked as she breathed and her bones ground against each other in a way they probably shouldn't. "But I don't think you want me to die. The Daleks need me, or they think they do."

The burning red fabric of another soldier's uniform caught her eye. There was a shoe, too small for any adult, sat abandoned not far from a smoking gun. She closed her eyes, willing the tears away.

"Why. Do. You. Not. Regenerate?" There was something distinctly…odd about a questioning Dalek. And, why would a Dalek want her to regenerate? To live?

"I was given an order," she mumbled, speaking while she had the time. While she still had the voice and the confidence to speak. "I've followed every order ever given to me, without question and without pause. I have done terrible, terrible things for the supposed sake of my people. Things much worse than the order I was given only hours ago. But I refused this time. I don't know why, not fully anyway. And now, I'm dying by the consequences of my own choices. I shouldn't have been here, but I am. Maybe I was always meant to be. Time is fickle that way. But I think it might be best to just…stop here."

"You. Will. Regenerate! You. Will. Come. With. The. Daleks!"

Anger bloomed in her chest, scorching and rare as it was. Her jaw clenched and her eyes steeled. Shoulders squared and nostrils flared, she arched a brow at the Dalek. "You have no rule over me," she spoke. Her voice was oddly clinical and sharp, cutting through the mist between them. Not showing any of the pain she was surely suffering from. "Who am I to you, Dalek? What is it that you want from me? What, that my own kind hasn't already taken? I know my worth, Dalek, and it is nothing to you."

It hummed, moving back a few paces. The most feared creature in the universe was weary of her. "You. Know."

"I know? What do I know?"

"You. Know. All."

She paused, glare fading. "I don't understand." She repeatedly tapped the thumb of one of her shaking hands on the side of her thigh, head tilted in consideration.

"You. Do." The Dalek insisted. "You. Know. All."

The Dalek's intentions clicked all at once. The puzzle pieces fit together, dangerous and terrifying. "It's easy, sometimes, to forget what they've done to me, what they made me into. I get a migraine if I think about it too much, like my mind is ready to implode. You should know this one thing, Dalek, you deserve to know."

"You. Will. Speak!"

"Your species will die here, and so will mine. And so, perhaps, will all the rest."

Weapon flashing, the laser lined up eerily with her hearts. "Daleks. Will. Never. Die." It asserted, eye socket swiveling manically.

"I can feel it." She tapped the side of her head, eyes sad. "I can feel my people dying. I hear their screams, their gasping breaths, their prayers. I listen, so they can go in peace, knowing they are not alone. Dying soldiers, dying officers, dying women and children. I hear the truth behind the Gallifreyan race, the fear. A race that never quite grows, never quite changes, because the very first were afraid to die."

The stars used to litter the sky, polka-dotting the swirls of burnt orange and deep reds. She barely remembered a time, as just a small child, when she would try to count the stars. She'd run out of time by morning with the first rising sun. Nights were so short and days were so long.

It was long before her introduction to the physicality of time.

In this moment, she could see the stars struggling to peek through the smoke of war. And the two moons, risen without her noticing, cusped the clouds in a gray haze. They looked lonely, even as they crowded what was visible of the night sky. There was something ominous about the burning reds blotching the thinner layers of the darkened smog.

She hummed under her breath an old lullaby she thought her mother might have sung to her. Or perhaps she'd witnessed another child being sung to. Perhaps it wasn't real at all. But she hummed the tune, low in her throat. It sounded wet and croaked through her lips in broken bits.

She thought about the children who liked to stargaze, and she hummed for them too. Looking at the few stars in the sky, she projected the image as far as she could for the peace of her people.

Her right hand pulsed in pain, and blood streamed from the wounds. The glove, brown leather and two fingers down, sparked in her palm. The wires fried. It burned. It woke her up.

The Dalek had been watching her, waiting. Time passed, though she wasn't quite sure how much.

"I've never known a patient Dalek," she mused, entirely curious and confused.

It didn't respond, just swiveled and refocused its eye socket. She couldn't help but think her enemy, strangely her confidant for the last several hours, seemed lost. In thought, in memory, maybe in turmoil. Against her better judgement, she felt bad for the deadly creature. It was a soldier, used for this war, just as she was. But she had a bad habit of allowing empathy to cloud her perspective.

"Dalek, do you have a name?" Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, and hesitant. She knew the answer, but thought she'd ask anyway.

The Dalek twisted sharply towards her, sliding across the gravel quickly. Its weapon pressed against her sternum. "Daleks. Do. Not. Have. Need. For. Names! Daleks. Do. Not. Accept. Pity!" Its eye flashed with each word.

"Of course, I pity you, just as I pity every victim of this war. The civilizations we crumbled, the species we erased, the soldiers we created, the lives we stole," she said, lacing her fingers at the base of her neck for a second time. The pressure helped to steady the dizzy spell that hit her. She pressed forward, allowing the metal to dig into her chest. The list of wrongdoings kept going, shuttering just behind her eyelids. She didn't close her eyes just so she wouldn't have to look at it.

"Daleks. Are. Not. Victims!"

"We are all victims," she spoke, lowering a hand between them. She rested her palm along the weapon connecting them, her three fingers curling around the metal. "Who am I to you, Dalek? Why were you given orders to retrieve me? Alive, no less."

The Dalek jerked, uncharacteristically retreating from her reach. "You. Are. The. Asset."

She sighed. "You're not wrong, though I haven't gone by that name for centuries. They gave that name to me, and I've never been partial to it. When I realized, so long ago, that I wasn't the property of my species, I suddenly had the freedom of my own name, not a title. Of course, the name I have now wasn't my choice either. It was a gift. There's even a religion titled after me. Flattering, though a bit unsettling, if I'm honest. It wasn't my idea, of course, I –"

"You. Will. Stop." The Dalek interrupted.

"Oh, am I rambling?" She quipped, eyebrows raised. She hadn't talked that way, unrelenting and without limit, in so very long. It was freeing, though her throat stung at the use. "Terribly sorry. What can I do for you, Dalek?" Her teeth were sticky. She wondered if they were as red as they felt.

Though she didn't show the discomfort, her spine spasmed and locked. She couldn't feel her limp leg at all anymore. Her lungs tore with every inhale. It was probably odd to some, the connection and control a Tome Lord had over their body, but she could feel the struggle of her kidneys. One had already failed.

"The. Asset. Will. Obey." The Dalek sounded almost frustrated, as much as a Dalek could.

If she had the energy, she might have scolded the Dalek for treating her so callously. She was not its prisoner. As it happened, she could barely blink without her body aching in pain. She knew, though, that she was the one in control here, even if the Dalek refused to recognize that fact.

"I find your species incredibly…sad," she mused. Watching the Dalek jerk back, her heart swelled with pity.

"The. Asset. Will. Explain." It screeched, lights flashing in warning.

She tapped the side of her nose twice, anxiety curling in her hallow stomach. "You're a Dalek, and no one else. You have no name, no identity. You're simply a colony of soldiers slaved to orders; and without those orders, you wait. You waste away, but you're not allowed to feel anything besides that urge to obey. Not impatience. Not boredom or pain or curiosity. I understand that, I truly do. I was much the same, once. But the difference between us is that I chose to become something different."

It was silent, she waited, and then, "Of course, all paths led me here, same as you."

"We. Are. Not. The. Same." It hissed, guttural and metallic. "Daleks. Are. Superior."

"As you've said," she nodded. Spots danced in her vision and dizziness hit from the motion. "You have your beliefs, and I have mine."

It spun, weapons twirling and eye socket flashing. "Daleks. Do. Not. Compromise! Daleks. Are. Superior!"

Glancing down, she watched as blood soaked through her trousers, staining the red of her uniform a deep maroon color. It spread from several slashes and burns in her thigh. She blinked, focus swimming. The reds blurred.

Feeling delirious and light-headed, she steadied her breathing. "We've been talking in circles, Dalek. For hours, we've been chatting without really saying anything. Repeating and repeating and repeating. Granted, I get sidetracked. I'm easily distracted, always have been. One of my many quirks. I like to think it's endearing, but it's probably just annoying. And here I am rambling, and dying – of course – and there you are, stalling, I think. Stalling for what?"

It stopped shifting, seeming to weigh the options. It was almost amusing, and sad, the confusion etched into the silence of this one unusual Dalek.

"Reinforcements," it said, finally, and she couldn't help the small huffed laughter that escaped her lips.

She stared across the horizon, the desolate wasteland of bodies and parts and smoke. Once so beautiful, magical if she were one to believe in such a thing. Tall glittering towers now crumbling to dust and ruin. The red grass capped with white snow as far as the eye could see. Silver trees reflecting the oranges of the sky, all burning to cinders. At the very center, elegant and bold, the city of Arcadia. The dome of shattered crystal rained onto the city.

The planet – her home, in a begrudging way – was now decimated, skeletal in the same way a tree losing its leaves may seem.

She saw no life; she felt no life. It was all ending. "There are no reinforcements coming."

"They. Are. Coming." And that surety in its voice broke her heart. Despite her misgivings, despite her past transgressions, she liked to think herself kind. Even a being meant to be her enemy could not truly ignite her hatred or spite. She felt hallow at witnessing the strange hope blooming in the child of a hopeless race.

"But why?" She wondered aloud. "Why, when a single Dalek could wipe out an entire planet in an afternoon, do you need reinforcements for me? I'm already wounded, and I'm hardly worth the trouble of even one Dalek." Her lips curved in a wry grin, fresh tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

"You. Know. All." The Dalek repeated earnestly. "You. Are. The. Archiver."

She may have rolled her eyes if she didn't think she'd lose her balance altogether from the action. "So, you do know my name. Quite exciting, truly." She leaned forward a bit, as if to share a secret, tapping her nose twice. "Tell me, Dalek, do you honestly want to know what I know?"

"You. Will. Tell." The Dalek's eye swiveled again, showing excitement and authority all in one motion.

Her lips curled sadly, blood dripping down her chin. She tasted salt and metal as her tongue swept across her lip. Her cheeks were wet. "You will be the last Dalek, and I will be the last Time Lord. Or Time lady, if you're one for semantics." It was a whisper that echoed across the desolate expanse of war. It collapsed broken towers and swept dust from the rubble. It traveled through the cracks of Gallifrey and burned her hearts.

The Dalek shook, backing away from her and her treacherous words. "You! Lie!" It screeched, sliding and cutting into the ground. Turning away, searching for others of its kind. "YOU! LIE!" It repeated, over and over and over.

She almost wished she was lying, but she could feel it as life after life dwindled to silence. And she knew it would all end in a breathless, tragic moment. The most important moment, and the hardest choice.

"It ends here, with us." Her throat constricted, she swallowed something metallic.

"The. Daleks. Will. Never. Die." It stared at her, eye socket strangely expressive. "The. Archiver. Knows! And. You. Lie! I. Will. Not. Let. The. Daleks. Die!" Stopping, the Dalek looked to be preparing for something, and her hearts seized in her chest. One stopped all together. She didn't understand how mono-vascular creatures could cope as pain bloomed along her left side. The air rushed from her lungs and she lunged forward.

"No!" She latched onto the creature, fingers grappling for any spare handholds. The consequences didn't really cross her mind, even as her wounds screamed and her mind muddied.

"Emergency. Temporal. Shift."

The two soldiers hurtled through the time vortex. Her broken body was unprotected from the consuming nature of time and space colliding in a tunnel of spinning cosmos. A scream ripped from the depths of her throat, blood coating her tongue. Knuckles splitting as she tried to keep her grip, she felt the pressure of the shift crushing her body.

She let go, the last of her strength whittled away.

Her vision blackened. Unable to breathe in, her lungs collapsed without air. Bones shattered, scraping against each other and rattling along her torn muscles. And her hearts finally burst in a crescendo of torture. Everything was pain, agonizing, liberating pain. White hot cruelty that started from her finger tips and spread through her veins like acid. It burned; she was burning. And she cried what few tears she had left in mourning.

Of course, she would burn. It had to be some kind of bad karma, a sick joke. Her lip curled into a small, patient smile as she waited for her final release. There was only blind burning agony until there was suddenly a gentle warmth.

"No, no, no, I wanted to stop. I'm not doing this. Who…why? Please, no," she whimpered, a deep frown twisting her features, as the unwelcomed heat spread quite oddly from a spot on her cheek. It felt similar to the soft caress of a mother's touch along her skin. Her spine spasmed through the dichotomy of agony and a soothing wave of calm. The golden light enveloped her body and shot from her limbs in ribbons of regeneration energy. She was changing again, and it was devastating.

Her head was weightless. She wondered, briefly, what happened to the Dalek.

She lost consciousness somewhere between the feeling of two freshly beating hearts and the itchy sensation if grass between her fingers.

*O*O*

Before anything else, she noticed the texture of the air. Like gravel, the different atoms coated her tongue in a thick, rough residue. It was somehow both soothing and disgustingly chaotic as it filled her new lungs. She reveled in the feeling for a moment. She liked these new lungs better than her last ones. They breathed easier, fresh as they were.

She was probably on Earth, or someplace similar, based on the composition of the air on her tongue.

Her body ached with the familiar soreness of a fresh regeneration. There was a coldness beneath her…wait not beneath, behind. Gravity pressed her head to her chest without her neck's support. Propped against a large vertical metal slab, she paused to assess. Against her better judgement, she cracked her eyes open, slowly and deliberately. The light assaulted her brand-new retinas, and she groaned at the unfortunately expected migraine that ensued.

To her, more than any other change – except perhaps the tongue's taste preferences –, the eyes had always been the most exciting. Yes, they changed color and possibly shape, but the shift in her vision was something to look forward to, as minimal as her want for regeneration was. Light perception. Depth. Clarity. She'd heard of Time Lords regenerating blind, others needing glasses. She wondered if colors themselves could be perceived differently with new eyes.

These eyes, in particular, were overly sensitive, especially to the light – even for Time Lord standards. It pulsed on the edges of her vision and left spots behind her eyelids. But they were sharp, catching the dust floating through the air and the tiny cracks in the wall on the other side of the room.

The room, yes. It was compact and made mostly of concrete. There were no windows that she could see. The air felt weighted and heavy, so she was likely underground. Fluorescent light fixtures hung from the ceiling. She was glad they didn't flicker as she was already feeling quite disoriented. The floor was linoleum tiles, like a bathhouse, and there was a drain just to her left accented with a walled metal hose. The air smelled of musk, damp and sticking to her skin unpleasantly. Her bare skin.

She'd always been rather indifferent to her body. While her training and obligations required her to be physically fit – a trait that seemed to carry over through her regenerations, so perhaps there was a way to influence the outcome just a smidge –, she had never been particularly vain or shy. But there was something about knowing a stranger had dressed her in small cloth shorts and a sports bra without her awareness that made her skin crawl. Both articles were white and stiff, sterile like a hospital.

Her hips and ankles were bound to the metal slab with thick leather straps, and her wrists were strung up by cushioned chains on either side of her head. She wasn't as tan as her last body, but definitely taller, and – oh look – all ten fingers. She could wiggle them just enough in her restraints to get back the feeling in her palms and wrists.

At least twenty-four hours had passed since her regeneration as the last of the residual energy had already ebbed away. She could feel the way her cells settled into her new form, content and sure. Though there was a strange buzz beneath her skin that made her anxious, like she was misplaced in this point in time and space. Like her body wasn't quite sure where or when she was meant to be.

It was oddly warm in the…hospital? Bunker? Dungeon? Sweat stuck to her skin in an effort to cool her from the heat, dripping down her back from her neck and slicking her joints. Her hair was melded to her skin, and her scalp itched. The color of her new hair was noticeably blonde, a pale bleached color, from the longest strands that brushed just along her collar to the shortest that swept over her cheeks. Shorter than her last cut.

The near silence was unsettling. She was never particularly fond of silence. The only sounds were her deep, measured breaths and the quartet of her beating hearts strumming from a monitor somewhere behind her.

Allowing saliva to gather, she swallowed to sooth the dryness of her throat. By now, her eyes had relatively adjusted to the clinical lighting, and she searched her surroundings for a clue as to where she was or for a way out of her predicament.

The room was mostly empty, save for a block of metal cabinets along the wall in front of her, a tray with a stack of papers and manila folders to her far left – out of reach even if she had movement of her arms –, and the slab she was strapped to. There was likely more behind her, judging by the proximity of the beat of her hearts. And that was probably where the door was, since she couldn't see an exit in the scape of her vision.

Testing her movement, she fought back a groan of frustration, not knowing if someone might have been listening. She could vaguely shift and bend her knees. While helpful for circulation and cramps, the range of motion wasn't enough to loosen her bindings. She could flex her wrists as well, but refrained as the cuffs uncomfortably pinched her skin.

Twisting her neck and arching her back, her stiff muscles felt minimal reprieve. If she tugged too hard, she feared for the pressure on her shoulders.

And time passed. She imagined the tick-tock-tick-tock of a clock to fill the air.

She and time have always had a complicated relationship. It fought against her most often, but she always welcomed the challenge of conquering time. But now, as the seconds ticked by, she wallowed in the grudge that time held for her. She took to counting the cracks in the ceiling while she waited for whoever brought her here to make an appearance.

She counted to a hundred and seventy-seven when she choked on a breath at the screech that echoed across the space she now called her cell. And she knew those screeches; she'd been the cause of similar sounds many times.

The scream of a Dalek. Not angry. Not demanding. Not pleading. It was the sound of pain, deep rooted and agonizing.

Was it her Dalek? The one she spoke so personably with? Must be, she was sure.

"Where did we land?" She whispered to herself, body stiff and eyes scrunched closed. She breathed heavily through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to stay calm as the screams continued. They echoed off the concrete walls, bouncing back and forth and forcing her to listen. She didn't know which direction it was coming from.

Behind her placement in the room, a heavy metal door swung open disarmingly quiet. She didn't notice, so distracted was she by the torture of the creature she was meant to call an enemy. The sound cut off so abruptly, she felt her ears ring. Tears trailed down her cheeks, chest aching at such terrible pain for any being.

"I find you utterly fascinating," a man, human, spoke just to her left. Though surprised, she didn't jump. And yes, she was indeed on Earth.

He was short, with a receding hairline and an unflattering moustache. He wore an expensive suit and a grin that emitted arrogance. And he was, somewhat surprisingly, American. She hadn't been to America in a while, likely in their early 2000s based on his attire and speech pattern. "You just look so…human. But, clearly, that isn't the case. Not with a binary vascular system and that little trick you did to get here. I don't know what it was, but I'm excited to find out."

She remained silent, watching the man with a careful eye. His gaze made her shiver, like she was some amusing attraction to play with.

He suddenly inhaled sharply, placing a hand over his left breast and looking confusingly apologetic. "Forgive me, I don't have to do this often. I'm Henry van Statten. I'm a collector, you see. I find such strange and other-worldly things, and I showcase them in my private…museum, if you will. I choose to bring the mysteries of the universe into my own home. And you, my dear, are certainly a mystery. Do you understand me?"

Hesitantly, she nodded. She wasn't particularly confident with his pleasant demeaner.

"Great," he clapped his hand. "Do you have a name?"

Raising a brow, she nodded again, though she didn't think that was the answer he wanted.

Van Statten's eye twitched and he laced his fingers. "Yes, okay, I probably deserved that one. What's your name?"

She tilted her head, calculating his body language. He was laughably easy to read. She didn't think he was particularly smart, even by human standards. Conniving maybe, and certainly greedy, but not very intelligent. "Why," she retorted softly, eyes curious, "would I tell you anything, Mr. Van Statten?"

"A Scottish accent? For an alien? Odd, certainly," The way his lip curled was distinctly not friendly, though the raised brow translated curiosity. "Well, what choice do you have? I'm not going to let you go until I get my answers, so you might as well cooperate."

"I don't think you're going to let me go at all, no matter what I tell you," she hummed, letting her head rest back on the slab and breaking eye contact. She listened to her voice, humored by the accent. She'd never been Scottish before. It was interesting, the dialects and accents each regeneration chose when assimilating to a language. English, in particular, was always fun. So many possibilities. "You're a very predictable man."

While he obviously did not like that comment, she gave him points for not physically showing his displeasure. The truth was in the way his eyes hardened, the irises dark and edged with anger. "Perhaps, but you'll want to cooperate regardless."

She knew where this was going as he stepped back towards the door, of course she did. She'd been in his position enough times to know what came next. His knuckles rapped on the metal of the door four times, and she felt resigned to her fate.

"Simmons, so glad you could join us," Van Statten greeted, leading another man to her side.

The new man, Simmons, was about what she expected. Not the brown sweep of his hair or the decent build of his body. It was in his eyes, in his expression. The way his smile curved just crookedly enough to show a few teeth and split his otherwise handsome features. His eyes flashed with the intrigue of curious and sadistic intent. He resembled her, on her bad days – really bad days.

"Couldn't be more excited to get started," Simmons chuckled, standing far too close. Another American, though she shouldn't be surprised. How embarrassing it was to be at the mercy of these two humans.

Sometimes, she mused, humans could be the most beautiful creatures in the universe. And other times, the downright cruelest monsters of them all. She was crudely fortunate enough to have encountered the latter much more often.

"She's a bit stubborn to cooperate, but I know you'll get through to her," Van Statten said, leaning against the wall as he stared at her. "If she is, in fact, alien – which I do believe she is – then she may have some insight on our metal friend a few doors down."

He was talking about the Dalek. He clearly hadn't gotten a name from the Dalek either, as confident as she was in her deductive skills. And he was frustrated. Nothing quite like the wrath of a disgruntled torturer.

"It's simple, really," Simmons started. He disappeared behind her vantage point, and she could hear the scrape of metal along the tiled floor. "We'll start with studying her physiology, as we don't need her input in that regard. By the end of it, she'll be more than willing to answer our questions." She eyed the assortment of surgical tools sat ominously on the tray, but she was much more worried about the machine he dragged just behind him.

Simmons stuck the wired patches to her temples, on either side of her hearts, and along her hips. And, while she was shamefully afraid, she refused to show that kind of weakness in front of these men. She was much stronger than they gave her credit for.

"Right you are," Van Statten laughed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Let's get started."

She bit her tongue to keep from screaming as the shocks coursed through her veins. The taste of iron was, sadly, quite familiar.

* * *

**Special thanks to my reviewers: bored411, ThatBigBlueBox, Aryabloodlust, Punky Eleven, and savethemadscientist**

**I really appreciate all of your feedback and would love to hear more from my readers! Any questions and comments posed in reviews or private messaging I will do my best to answer at the end of each chapter in an endcard similar to this. Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoy! **

**I apologize again for the sporadic updating, but it will be that way for awhile. I'll do my best for you all!**


	2. Chaotic Introductions

**A/N: Okay, here's chapter two everyone. I'm going to hopefully get the third chapter up in a day or two, since I am a bit of a lengthy writer. The plan is to publish as many chapters as I can over the next couple weeks before another, hopefully brief, hiatus. I want to get some content out there for you all to read. Thank you for your patience!**

* * *

There had always been something uniquely timeless about hallow spaces. For instance, an empty grocery market after closing when all of the aisles were dark, the products on the shelves aligned just so for the next morning. Even the shadows would be still, with the occasional flash of a passing car. Empty and silent, so very still. Truly frozen in time, until the first rays of sunlight and the click of the employee unfortunate enough to be stuck with the first shift unlocking the doors.

Similar atmospheres may exist around street corners or in late night cafés. A graveyard was another, rather obvious, example. With stone after stone etched in name or carved in memory. Dead grass and bone trees. Somehow always foggy.

The truly hallow spaces, though, were the ones that held untouched history and hidden life. Bookstores teeming with thousands of stories, gathering dust and bursting with noise behind closed covers, were not so much timeless as filled with time. They swelled with thoughts and excerpts of every time and place, of every possibility. Exhibitions stocked with imaginings of artists come to life; sculptures, paintings, and photographs all secretly shifting in the night out of view of observers. And museums, just the same, were uniquely hallow time capsules.

Deep below the salt plains of Utah, only viewed by a select few, was one such museum. Most museums strived to diagram history, to bring those memories of the planet forward in time to be studied, and ultimately judged. This museum, however, displayed the future.

Alien artifacts, lost treasures, and objects of unknown origin sat on pedestals, gathering dust, never to be seen or touched or rightfully studied. The lights were off, and shadows crept from the corners. It was just so…quiet.

Of course, when one realized the quiet, it was the perfect opportunity to shatter that silence. And shatter it did with a startling wheezing sound that echoed in the hallow space. In the center of one of the hallways, a blue box started to materialize. Flicking in and out, casting light across the shadows. The first movement that hallway had seen in much too long.

The door of the box creaked open rather cartoon-like and two figures leapt from the much too small on the outside box.

"So, what is it? What's wrong?" Rose chirped, sliding out from behind the Doctor.

The Doctor stood, gaze sweeping around the room the two travelers found themselves in. "I don't know. Some kind of signal drawing the Tardis off course. Two, actually, from the same place." It wasn't often the Doctor was this out of the loop of where his precious ship chose to land…though, perhaps more often than he'd like.

"Where are we?" Rose stayed just beside the Doctor, looking around at the dark hallway. She may have been curious, but she knew when best to stay with the Doctor – er, well, she was learning at the very least.

"Earth, Utah, North America," the Doctor recited, still rather confused by where they were. "About half a mile underground."

Nodding, Rose looked back at the Doctor. "And, uh, when are we?"

"Two thousand and twelve," the Doctor responded absentmindedly, striding up to a snake-like creature frozen and encased in glass. Something wasn't right here, not right at all.

"God, that's so close. I should be twenty-six," Rose grinned. She'd never get used to it, travelling through time. A moment so close to her future, yet she got to skip all of the middle bits. Probably boring bits as well.

As they took in the space the Tardis brought them to, the lights above them flickered to life. Rows and rows of glass casings, each depicting another part of the future's history.

"Blimey, it's like a great big museum!" Rose said in awe, staring rather transfixed at the expanse of this odd underground structure.

"An Alien museum," the Doctor commented, feeling a tad unsettled. "Someone's got a hobby. They must've spent a fortune on this." He was rather stunned by it all. A museum, hidden under Utah of all places, holding pieces of the universe secret from the human race. "Chunks of meteorite. Moondust. That's the milometer from the Roswell spaceship."

"That's a bit of Slitheen! That's a Slitheen's arm, it's been stuffed!" She couldn't quite decide if she was amazed or disgusted. Glancing at the Doctor, Rose hummed. "Do you reckon she's here already? You've said she's appeared in places before you, yeah?"

Shrugging, the Doctor pouted just a bit when he didn't find who he was looking for. "Once or twice, sure. Bit unpredictable, she is. Keeps me on my toes," he chuckled, sweeping down the aisle. "Though it's all a bit untouched, isn't it? If she was here already, at the very least the lights would have been on. Unless she's been here a while. I'm still working out all the details."

"Suppose that's true," Rose conceded, still staring at the Slitheen arm. It looked smaller somehow without the rest of its hulking body, not that she'd want to see one again to compare. "Archie's way of travelling is a tad…dodgy. Maybe she'll show up once we get to the fun. It'd be just like her to skip all the boring bits. Wanna make bets on which one we'll see today? Doctor?"

"Ah, look at you!" The Doctor, so easily distracted, barely registered Rose's words. He approached a glass casing, feeling a wave of unwelcomed nostalgia at the metal head with bits of wire and tube-ish details on display. He was angry at the sight, sure, but there was also a strange sense of triumph bubbling in his chest.

Rose noticed how he seemed to quiet, staring at the robotic head with such a distant and almost painful gaze. "What is it?" she asked as she approached him.

"An old friend of mine. Well," he stopped, nodding at the glass. "Enemy. The stuff of nightmares, reduced to an exhibit. I'm gettin' old." The Doctor wondered if, one day, he'd be similarly stuffed and put on display. The thought was rather terrifying.

"Is that where the signal's coming from?" Rose glanced at the head – apparently an enemy of the Doctor? – and wasn't sure what to feel. Honestly, she felt strangely sad looking at what was probably the last artifact of an entire species, even if that species hadn't been kind or good.

"Nah, it's stone dead. The signal's alive, both of them. Something's reaching out, calling for help." His voice, flat and pained, troubled Rose as she listened to him.

Rose wished, not for the first time, that Archie was there. She could always comfort the Doctor in a way Rose didn't think she could ever quite master.

Hesitantly, the Doctor raised a hand and just brushed two fingers along the glass casing. The action caused an alarm to blare throughout the museum, startling Rose. A series of soldiers in military garb rushed into the room, guns held tightly to their chests. The Doctor scowled as the guns were trained directly on him and Rose. He never liked guns, not one bit.

"Maybe it's a good thing Archie isn't here yet," Rose gulped, moving closer to the Doctor's side and gripping the sleeve of his leather jacket. Why were there always guns? "If someone's collecting aliens, that'd make you and her Exhibit A, and B I suppose."

The Doctor smiled wryly at the soldiers, lamenting how his trips always seemed to take a similar turn. Just once he'd like a trip that didn't put his companions in danger.

The Doctor and Rose were led through another assortment of hallways, maze-like and annoying, before reaching an office. It was roomy and spoke of a man who thought highly of himself, in a narcissistic way. A glass desk covered in glass ornaments. Fancy rugs and wallpaper. A poorly done portrait hung on the back wall, likely meant to be the man sat in the center of the office.

Another younger man, probably an intern of some kind, was standing just beside the man at the desk. He was holding an oddly shaped piece of metal. "And this is the last," he said, handing the object to his boss. He was English and obviously a bit of a kiss-ass. "Paid $800,000 for it."

"What does it do?" The man, American, asked as he took the object.

"Well, you see the tubes on the side," the intern commented, gesturing around the metal. "Must be to channel something, I think maybe fuel."

"I really wouldn't hold it like that," the Doctor interjected, hands folded behind his back.

"Shut it!" The woman beside him ordered – Goddard, he thought she said her name was – not that he'd listen. He wasn't one to be ordered around, especially not by someone so terribly ignorant of the collection they possessed.

"Really though, that's wrong," the Doctor insisted. Rose grinned knowingly to his left. It was amusing, truly, when the Doctor tried to be all impressive. He usually saved that attitude for when Archie was around.

The man in charge appraised the Doctor for a moment, a certain glint in his eye.

"Is it dangerous?" The intern asked, curious and excited.

"No, just looks silly," the Doctor hummed, smile spreading across his face. He took a step forward and reached, only to pause, grin falling, as guns cocked just behind him. Guns, he really hated them. The man in charge held up a hand for them to lower their weapons, exchanging a look of understanding with the Doctor, and stood up to hand over the artifact with great care.

The Doctor looked at the piece for a moment, smiling despite himself. "You just need to be…" a brief hum escaped the instrument as he ran his fingers over the ridges, the ports lighting up a soothing blue color. "…delicate." The hums continued, and he felt rather proud of himself with the sound.

"It's a musical instrument," the man in charge said, fake interest in his eyes.

"And it's a long way from home," the Doctor continued, gazing fondly at the piece. He played a familiar melody, one someone very dear to him often sung.

"Here, let me." And the man grabbed the instrument from the Doctor's hands roughly, fingers curling around the edges.

"I did say delicately," the Doctor reminded, worried by the handling of the little instrument. The sound it made as the man stroked it was chaotic and metallic, harsh on the ears. "It reacts to the smallest fingerprint. It needs precision. Of course, my skills are only elementary. I know someone quite talented who could just make this beauty sing!" He exchanged a glance with Rose, both silently wondering where their wandering companion may be. Perhaps she wasn't meant to join them on this adventure. His hearts wilted at the thought.

Slowly, if a bit jerkily, the man was able to adjust his pressure and make the instrument hum quite nicely. "Very good. Quite the expert." The Doctor praised.

"As are you," the man commented, gaze calculating as he stared at the Doctor. Jerking his arm, he threw the instrument away flippantly, not even looking as it clattered across the ground. "Who exactly are you?"

The Doctor met his eyes resolutely, a new annoyance brewing in their depths. "I'm the Doctor, and who are you?"

"Like you don't know!" The man spoke, levelly meeting the Doctor's harsh stare. "We're hidden away with the most valuable collection of extraterrestrial artifacts in the world, and you just stumbled in by mistake." He was a mocking fellow, one that promised great headaches if the Doctor were to guess.

"Pretty much sums me up, yeah," the Doctor nodded with an awkward chuckle. He didn't like where this was going.

"Question is, how did you get in?" The man continued, hand in his pockets and moving from behind his desk. He spoke casually, as if between friends. "Fifty-three floors down, with your little cat-burglar accomplice. Quite a collector yourself, she's rather pretty."

Rose crossed her arms, glaring quite harshly. She never had been the intimidating one though, perhaps she should get a few pointers from Archie, who could be rather intimidating if she wanted to be. "She's gonna smack you if you keep calling her 'she'," Rose griped, an annoyed tick to her brow.

"She's English too," he quipped. "Hey, Little Lord Fauntleroy, got you a girlfriend." He turned towards his intern, looking pleased with himself.

Sighing, the young man ignored the comment and put on a charming smile. "This is Mr. Henry van Statten," he introduced, gesturing towards his boss.

"And who's he when he's at home?" Rose retorted, already sick of this man.

"Mr. Van Statten owns the Internet," the intern added, looking quite proud.

Rolling her eyes, Rose gave him an unbelieving stare. "Don't be stupid. No one owns the Internet."

"Let's just keep the whole world thinking that way, right, kids?" Van Statten grinned, though with a threatening air about him.

The Doctor, well, he was unimpressed with Van Statten thus far. "So, you're just about an expert in everything, except the things in your museum. Anything you don't understand, you lock up." He felt that familiar burning sensation in his chest that meant he was angry, or getting there anyway. Mostly just irritated with this man, this little human, that felt he was entitled to such wonderful knowledge without so much as a wisp of true understanding.

The Doctor, in that moment, wished for his friend, his dear friend who always knew what to say. Instead, he closed his eyes and counted to five, just as she taught him. The anger fled, but he didn't think Archie would begrudge him his irritation in this instance.

"And you claim greater knowledge," Van Statten challenged, a similar irritation with the man who called himself 'the Doctor' growing in his eyes.

Shrugging, the Doctor quirked his lips. "I don't need to make claims. I know how good I am."

"And yet I captured you, right next to the Cages. What were you doing down there?"

"You tell me," the Doctor responded, dread settling in his gut at the mention of cages.

Van Statten narrowed his eyes, not truly believing that this doctor man didn't know where he was and what else was there. "The Cages contain my two living specimens. The only two I've managed to get for my collection."

"And what are they?" The dread grew.

"Like you don't know," Van Statten started, confusion setting in.

"Show me," the Doctor ordered rather than requested. Rose stiffened beside him, always rather hesitant when the Doctor became so serious.

"You wanna see them?"

Huffing, Rose spoke, wanting to defuse the tension in the room. "Blimey, you can smell the testosterone." She gulped, feeling trapped in the underground museum. She wasn't very impressed with the Doctor at the moment, and she imagined how Archie might handle the situation. She'd probably laugh at the way the two men were sizing each other up and leave them to go explore a bit.

"Goddard! Inform the Cages, we're heading down," Van Statten ordered, never breaking eye contact with the Doctor. "You, English, look after the girl. Go and canoodle or spoon or whatever it is you British do. And you, Doctor with no name." He grinned, eyebrows raising. "Come and see my pets."

With one last passing glance at Rose, who nodded her head even if she was rather put out at being separated, the Doctor followed Van Statten from his office. That feeling of dread, of coldness seeping into his spine, didn't go away. Not as they walked through more hallways and passed more glass casings. Not as they waltzed by soldiers. Not as they finally stopped just outside a heavy gateway. If anything, the feeling seemed to worsen, making his fingers curl in his pockets.

"We've tried everything," Van Statten began, twisting the ring on his finger. The whole thing was rather frustrating to him. "The one you're about to see – we keep them separate, of course – the creature has shielded itself, but there's definite signs of life inside."

Brow furrowing, the Doctor felt truly confused. "Inside? Inside what?"

"Welcome back, sir," Another American, dressed in an orange protective suit, joined them. Simmons, Van Statten called the man. "I've had to take the power down, the Metaltron is resting."

"Metaltron?" An odd name, a stupid name really. Perhaps another cyberman? That'd be unfortunate, it really would. The Doctor was really hoping that wasn't the case.

Van Statten gazed at the Doctor, challenging. The Doctor wondered if his superior attitude came from his need to compensate for the receding hairline, or something else. "Thought of it myself. Good, isn't it? Although I'd much prefer to find out its real name."

"Here, you'd better put these on." Simmons offered some gloves. "The last guy that touched it, burst into flames," he said offhandedly, a cruel grin twisting his features.

"I won't touch it then," the Doctor quipped, lips thinning.

Eyes widening, almost manically, Van Statten regarded the Doctor. "Go ahead, Doctor. Impress me." Everyone else in the room exchanged knowing, amused looks as the Doctor walked right by Van Statten and his associates, confidence in his stride.

The cage was dark and cold, with a terribly heavy-looking door. There were carts with shiny metal tools and the walls were thick concrete that dampened the space. The Doctor felt mildly claustrophobic as he took the last few steps into the cage. The door, heavy like he thought, whirred as it closed and locked behind him.

As he looked at the drills and other tools on one of the carts, the Doctor's heart flipped in his chest. This wasn't right, not for any creature. "Look, I'm sorry about this. Mr. Van Statten might think he's clever, but never mind him. I've come to help. I'm the Doctor."

And before he even understood what was happening, hearts seizing in his chest, the Doctor felt his stomach plummet quite harshly. "Doctor." A distinctly mechanical voice echoed from the darkness. A single blue light shown from the center, an all too familiar and deadly light.

"Impossible!" The Doctor breathed, struggling to understand the how and why behind it all.

"The. Doctor?" The two yellow cylinders attached to the dome of its head flashed with every word. The lights in the cage flickered on, revealing the Dalek, rusted and chained in the middle of the cage. The chains wrapped around the entirety of its casing, each of the four extending to lit pillars in each corner of a square. "Exterminate! Exterminate!" The creature moved and flashed as much as it could in its binds.

"Let me out!" The Doctor shouted, banging on the metal door keeping him in as the Dalek continued to screech 'Exterminate!' just behind him. His fists ached with the force, and he'd likely have bruised knuckles later.

"You. Are. An. Enemy. Of. The. Daleks! You. Must. Be. Destroyed!" It spoke, voice rattling and angry. It attempted to aim, to shoot the Doctor, but nothing happened. The whisk-like appendage only wiggled back and forth, with no deadly beam of light.

The Doctor watched on, afraid at first as he prepared for his death, until reality slowly dawned on him. His face split into a grin, a nervous chuckle echoing around the room. "It's not working," he gasped, breaths leaving him quickly, far too quickly, as relief settled over him like a blanket. And just like the sight of the beheaded cyberman encased in glass, a feeling of triumph bubbled once again in his hearts. Only this time, much larger and much more gratifying. He laughed, loud and happy, from deep in his belly. He laughed at the pathetic creature in front of him, once so dominating. "Fantastic!" he shouted, stepping away from the door. "Oh, fantastic!"

And the Doctor's eyes hardened, a frown beginning to mar his features. That familiar, tainting anger flushed over his hearts again. He didn't think to count, to calm down. He just watched the Dalek, glee spreading from that black spot of anger.

"Powerless!" The Doctor said, satisfaction coating his tongue. The true shame of the Dalek race. "Look at you. The great space dustbin. How does it feel?!" His voice echoed, bouncing off the concrete walls. He imagined the Dalek might have flinched, if it could.

The Dalek slid back as far as it could, anxious in a way the Doctor had never seen. "Keep! Back!" It shrieked. Afraid, truly afraid. Daleks weren't meant to feel fear, not like that. And the Doctor, he reveled in it.

He charged forward, inches from that terrifyingly blue eye socket. "What for?! What are you gonna do to me?" He asked, teeth bared and eyes wide. They reflected the glowing blue, looking manic and dangerous.

The Dalek remained silent, eye watching the Doctor. Hesitant in a way a Dalek never had been before, not to his knowledge. He stepped away from the creature, the disgusting monster in front of him that had killed so many. He stepped back, but not once did he look away, just circling the Dalek. It didn't even occur to him that they were being watched.

"If you can't kill," the Doctor started, jaw stuttering through the words, "then what are you good for, Dalek? What's the point of you? You're nothing." He strode around the Dalek, feeling powerful. Feeling a sense of control, he never had during the war. "What the hell are you here for?"

"I. Am. Waiting. For. Orders." It responded evenly.

"What does that mean?"

"I. Am. A. Soldier." It said, lights flashing. "I. Was. Bred. To. Receive. Orders."

A fresh wave of glee washed over the Doctor. "Well, you're never gonna get any. Not ever!"

"I. Demand. Orders!" The Dalek screeched, the blue of its eye socket brightening at the declaration.

"They're never gonna come," the Doctor revealed, leaning in once again towards the Dalek. Spit flew from his mouth and he grinned, satisfaction curling in his stomach. "Your race is dead. You all burnt. All of you. Ten million ships on fire. The entire Dalek race wiped out, in one second."

"You. Lie!" But he wasn't, and he was so very glad that he wasn't lying, not this time.

"I watched it happen. I made it happen!" The Doctor continued, his hearts hallow save for that one black spot of anger. He held onto that, let it weave through his veins and touch his fingers. His hands shook, just the slightest bit, and he was brought down so suddenly from his high that his head spun. He felt dizzy. His hands shook and he was reminded of another, someone whose hands were rarely still. Someone who would probably be very disappointed in him right now.

"You. Destroyed. Us?"

As the Doctor stared at that bright blue, the color that had haunted so many of his nightmares – even when he was awake, or especially so – the Doctor felt pain. He felt the pain of realizing he was alone all over again. In knowing that he was the last of his kind. He saw that in the Dalek, in the mechanical gaze of a creature he was meant to hate – he did hate, with all of his being – and he felt empathy for that creature.

Needing to breathe, needing to separate from that too blue stare, the Doctor stepped away. He turned around, putting his back to his enemy, and he sunk into the pain of the Time War.

"I had no choice." There was something distinctly desperate in his voice now, like he needed to justify himself. But he didn't, not really. Not anymore. 'Cause he had her, and she understood. She forgave him, and she was utterly, truly brilliant.

"And. What. Of. The. Time. Lords?" It asked, as if the question wouldn't completely tear the Doctor apart.

He paused, not wanting to say it. Saying it made it so real, even as he wallowed in the silence in his mind, unable to sense any others. Not even her, not right now. He didn't know where she was, but he'd find her again. He needed to.

Eventually, he managed the one word that broke his hearts. "Dead." And he continued, voice strengthening even as his hearts suffered. "They burnt with you. The end of the Last Great Time War. Everyone lost."

"And. The. Coward. Survived."

At that, the Doctor grinned, knowing the truth, knowing he deserved it. His smile stretched, causing his cheeks to ache. "Oh, and I caught your little signal. 'Help me.' Poor little thing. But there's no one else coming 'cause there's no one else left. Tell your friend too, the second signal. No one's coming for either of you."

"Other. Signal? There. Is. No. Other. Signal." The Dalek spoke, dejection coming through the monotonous tones. "I. Am. Alone. In. The. Universe. Now."

The Doctor's brows furrowed, confused about the second signal. Who was it? What else was Van Statten hiding? Even as he quipped an enthusiastic "Yep!" at the Dalek, his mind stayed on that second signal, that dread creeping up once again. It should have stopped at the Dalek, what else was there?

"So. Are. You." The Dalek added. "We. Are. The. Same."

That black spot of anger grew and festered, becoming a patch along the surface of one of his hearts. He spun so quickly, thoughts of the other signal fleeing, and charged forward. "We're not the same! I'm not…No, wait. Maybe we are. 'Course, I'm not alone. Not anymore. She's breathtaking, really. Wonderful and complicated, and I'm still learning about her. You're right though! Yeah, okay! You've got a point. 'Cause I know what to do. I know what should happen. I know what you deserve." He paused, whether to be dramatic or not, he took that moment to finally feel victorious. "Exterminate." The word was strangely sweet on his tongue.

He reached over and pulled the lever he had been eying since he saw it, knowing what it could do. And the Dalek screamed, the sound booming and bouncing around the concrete walls. The Doctor felt something like a punch to the gut as a flood of sadness and agony washed over his mental barriers, the feelings not his own. Why hadn't he felt it before? That was another mind colliding with his, and it was in so much pain. And, terrifyingly, there was a spark of familiarity, gone before the Doctor could truly feel it.

The Doctor's eyes watered at the feeling, but he still watched the Dalek writhe. The glee was there, bubbling just under the surface of his skin, the joy at seeing his enemy finally perish. The war ending by his hand in a moment between the last two soldiers of the Time War.

"Have. Pity!" The Dalek screeched through the volts of electricity.

"Why should I?" The Doctor rebutted, grinning, even as a tear trailed down his cheek. "You never did!" He turned up the voltage, a sense of finality in the movement.

The Dalek screamed, head swiveling back and forth. "Help. Me!" As the Dalek begged, the heavy door swung open and Van Statten and his men charged into the room. Two guards grabbed the Doctor as Simmons shut down the machine.

"I saved your life," Van Statten announced, stepping in front of the Dalek. "Now talk to me. God damnit, talk to me!"

As he was being dragged away, the Doctor yelled. "You've got to destroy it!" He was desperate. It had to end, here and now. Please, make it end.

"The last in the universe," Van Statten hummed, head tilted at the Dalek. "And now I know your name. Dalek. Speak to me, Dalek!" When it remained silent, his eye twitched just so and a crazed look entered his gaze. "I am Henry van Statten, now recognize me!" And still, the Dalek was quiet. "Make it talk again, Simmons. Whatever it takes."

And Simmons was only too happy to follow orders.

*O*O*

Rose had stayed behind with Adam, Van Statten's intern. Not by her own choice, of course, even if he was a handsome lad. With sweeping dark brown hair and a charming smile, not to mention his nice bum. Rose wasn't one to skimp out on details like that. And, it's not like the Doctor had fought for her to go with him, so she'd just have to make do.

"Sorry about the mess," Adam coughed, leading Rose into his workshop. "Mr. Van Statten sort of lets me do my own thing, so long as I deliver the goods."

As Rose looked around the room, she took in everything that seemed so distinctly alien. None of it she recognized, not really, but she knew it wasn't from Earth. There were wire bins everywhere filled with tubes and bits and bobs, all alien, and all broken-looking. It was difficult to see the cinderblock walls behind the stuffed shelves and cupboards.

Rose knew Archie would be eager to explain it all. She was much more articulate than the Doctor, and kind, when she explained things. Rose missed her friend on this adventure, maybe because it was really quite boring. So far, at least.

"What," Adams voice brought Rose back from her thoughts, holding up a strange metal object, "do you think this is?"

She held it, twisting the piece a bit in her hands, and looked at him with a raised brow. "A lump of metal?"

"Yeah. Yeah, but I think," he paused, gathering himself. "Well, I'm almost certain, it's from the hull of a spacecraft. The thing is, it's all true, everything the United Nations tries to keep quiet. Spacecraft, aliens, visitors to Earth. They really exist." Adam stared at her expectantly, waiting for her awed response.

"That's amazing," Rose tried her best not to laugh, wanting to help him feel just a bit impressive. Especially after the showdown between the Doctor and Van Statten not long ago. Adam deserved a little of that, if only because he had a cute smile.

"I know it sounds incredible, but I honestly believe the whole universe is just teeming with life," Adam insisted, leaning on his desk.

Scratching behind her ear, Rose held back one of many possible responses. She eventually decided on a simple, "I'm gobsmacked, yeah." Looking around again, Rose kind of wished she could tell him, truly tell him, all that she'd seen. "And you do what? Sit here and catalogue it?"

"Best job in the world!" Adam grinned, shuffling some of the pieces around his table.

She stepped closer to the desk, head tilted. "Imagine if you could get out there," she said, looking up at him through her lashes. "Travel amongst the stars and see it for real."

"Yeah, I'd give anything," Adam sighed, a dreamy look in his eye. "I don't think it's ever gonna happen. Not in our lifetimes."

"Oh, you never know." She stepped away, moving around his workshop again. "What about all those people who say they've been inside of spaceships and things, and talked to aliens?"

"I think they're nutters," He laughed around a mouthful of tea.

Nodding, Rose felt a chuckle bubble in her throat. "Yeah, me too." Looking back at Adam, she moved closer to him. "So, how'd you end up here?"

"Van Statten has agents all over the world, looking for geniuses to recruit," Adam quipped, twiddling with another piece of alien tech in his hands.

Rolling her eyes, Rose ducked her head. "Oh, right, you're a genius," She mocked with a tongue in teeth smile.

Adam smiled proudly, not even ashamed in his confidence. "Sorry, but, yeah. I can't help it, I was born clever. When I was eight, I logged onto the U.S. defense system. Nearly caused world war three."

"What, and that's funny, it is?" Rose asked, brow raised incredulously, and that's when it caught her eye. Just there, on the edge of the table, a familiar little accessory.

Laughing, Adam didn't seem to notice as Rose lost interest in his story. "You should've been there. Just to see them running about. Fantastic!"

Rose's gaze shot to Adam's face, an odd smile on her face. "You sound like the Doctor," She hummed, grin stretching. Adam truly was an interesting fellow, taken by the stars just as she was. Mickey wasn't that way, not like she had hoped he'd be. She did miss him though.

"Are you and him –"

"No!" Rose was quick to say, thoughts lingering on her wandering friend. "No, we're just friends." Even if there were moments…well, nothing to dwell on. Not really.

"Good," Adam responded, cheeks dimpling bashfully.

Feeling a blush rising to her cheeks, Rose grinned. "Why's that good?" She asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

"Just is," he muttered, eye flitting across her face and Rose looked away, feeling shy for some odd reason. And again, her eyes caught that spot on the edge of the table, that accessory that she swore she recognized.

Her brow furrowed, and she stepped closer to it, fingers grazing that fine leather. "Where…um, what's this? If you don't mind," She gestured to the bundle of leather, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. "It doesn't really look alien," she added, hoping she wasn't being too obvious.

Adam, confused by the change in subject, looked at the piece on the table. His lips curled in mild frustration as he picked it up to show her. "It's a glove, or it looks like it anyway. There's two fingers missing, but it's intentional if you look at the stitching along the holes for the ring and pinky finger." He trailed a nail across the pale beige leather. "There's wiring, really thin and small, all over the inside. And plates with alien coding on the pads of the fingers and palm. I haven't been able to get it to work. I can't put it on because my hand is too big and I'm afraid if I try and cut it open, I'll break it altogether. So, for now, it just sits there. I don't know what it does."

Fear clogged Rose's throat as she watched him maneuver the glove around to show her the details. The thin, but durable, white thread she had used for stitching. She'd sat down once, around when they first met, to explain the glove. How it worked like the Doctor's sonic screwdriver, with slight alterations. Why she liked the leather. Why she chose a glove, of all things. She never did get around to why the last two fingers were bare, she'd left too quickly. But every version of her had a variation of the same glove. And one was here, why was it here?

"Where did you get it?" Rose asked hesitantly, not sure if she truly wanted an answer to that question. He had handed her the glove to examine, and she gently ran her fingers across the intricate floral textures that had been stitched into the leather wrist strap, the design favored by a certain brunette.

Adam paused for a moment, looking at Rose with narrowed eyes. "Well, uh, it belonged to one of the living specimen we have downstairs." He watched her reactions carefully, noting the way she swallowed and the nervous arch of her brow.

"And, when did you get it?" Her voice was high, anxious and trying too hard to be casual.

"This one, about two weeks ago, give or take a few days," He answered, unsure of what to think when she let out a relieved sigh, shoulders slumping.

"Two weeks, huh? Still fresh. Wouldn't you rather be downstairs?" She changed subject again, hoping it was smooth. Two weeks, there was no way she'd appear two weeks before them, right? The Doctor said in the past there'd only been a few hours difference. It had to be a coincidence, a freaky coincidence that nearly had her heart bursting from her chest, but a coincidence nonetheless. "I mean, you've got these bits of metal and stuff, but Mr. Van Statten's got two living creatures down there."

The, wobbly at best, assurance of a coincidence didn't stop Rose from slipping the glove into her back pocket when Adam wasn't looking.

"Yeah. Well, I did ask, but he keeps them to himself," Adam shrugged, pouting entirely like a child being kept from their favorite dessert. "Although…if you're a genius, it doesn't take much to patch through on the comms system."

Smiling, even with the weight of the glove in her pocket, Rose gestured to the computer. "Let's have a look then!"

As he typed, he glanced between the monitor and Rose. "Between the two of them, I find this one much more fascinating. It doesn't do much, the alien. It's weird, kind of useless actually, but smart. I can just tell. It's kind of funny really, like a great big pepper pot."

The monitor showed the large metal creature, chained up in the center of a concrete room. Rose watched as a man in a bright orange suit, probably some kind of protection if she had to guess, approached the creature with a long metal rod. The grating scraping noise of a drill came through the speakers, and the alien screamed.

"It's being tortured. Where's the Doctor?" Where was Archie when you need her? Rose watched, agonized, as the alien continued to scream.

"I don't know." Adam, useless, stargazing Adam. He just watched on, pretending like he hadn't seen them torturing the poor creature many times before. Torturing both of them.

Rose firmed her jaw and glared at him. "Take me down there. Now," she ordered above the alien's screams. She immediately walked from the workshop, knowing he'd either follow her, or she'd find her way down herself. And as she left, it didn't even occur to her that she hadn't gotten to see the second captive alien.

*O*O*

The Doctor was led into an elevator by two guards, quickly followed by Goddard and Van Statten. He huffed at the small space, itching to go back and finish off the Dalek. He rubbed his hands together, needing to do something with his pent-up movement.

"The metal is just battle armor," the Doctor started, staring down Van Statten with an even gaze. "The real Dalek creature is inside."

Van Statten stood calmly by the Doctor's side, more curious than frightened. "What does it look like?"

"A nightmare." The Doctor sighed, feeling so very old in that moment. "It's a mutation. The Dalek race were genetically engineered. Every single emotion was removed, except hate."

"Genetically engineered?" Van Statten repeated, eyes alight with the answers he had been searching for. "By whom?"

Rolling his eyes, the Doctor just wanted him to listen. He wasn't listening! Not at all. If he was, he'd be very afraid. "By a genius, Van Statten. By a man who was king of his own little world. You'd like him."

"It's been on Earth for over fifty years," Goddard interrupted, stepping forward in the elevator. "Sold at private auction, moving from one collection to another. Why would it be a threat now?"

"Because I'm here," the Doctor quipped, a grim smile stretching his lips. It was the kind of smile that came from a pained man. An old man, who had seen far too much. "How did it get to Earth? Does anyone know?"

"The records say it came from the sky like a meteorite," Goddard explained. "It fell to Earth on the Ascension Islands, burnt in its crater for three days before anyone could get near it. And all that time, it was screaming. Must have gone insane."

The Doctor frowned, brows pinching together. "It must have fallen through time." Like another traveler he knew, who he wished was with him now. Or maybe not, if only to keep her safe. He could work through the discomfort, the fear and pain, as long as she was safe. "The only survivor."

"You talked about a war?" Goddard mentioned, head tilted towards the Doctor.

"The Time War," the Doctor added, hearts constricting the way they did any time he thought about the war. A war that ruined so many lives, entire species of lives. "The final battle between my people and the Dalek race."

"But you survived too," Van Statten commented, gaining the Doctor's attention. He looked interested, maybe too much, in the idea of the Time War.

"Not by choice." And while the Doctor may have cursed that fact so long ago, and had his moments where he still would, surviving the war led him to Rose, to travelling again…to Archie. He couldn't give that up, not anymore.

Grinning, Van Statten narrowed his eyes at the Doctor. "This means the Dalek isn't the only alien on Earth, Doctor. There's you. In fact, I think you may have some insight on my other specimen. Good news, Doctor, you may not be the only one of your kind in existence. Allow me to show you." He gestured with his hands, and the guards latched onto the Doctor's arms, fingers digging into his skin even through the leather jacket.

"What? What are you talking about?" The Doctor felt that dread again. It had never truly left, but now it grew, clouding his thoughts and clawing its way up his throat. His breaths were quick and panicked as he was dragged down more hallways, always so many hallways, and he suddenly remembered that mind pressing on his as the Dalek screamed. Another telepath, another Time Lord?

Something itched, just behind his eyes and above his brows. He probed for that telepathic mind again because he had to know, he had to. But whoever or whatever they were, they were out of his reach. Either too far away or blocking his connection, likely the latter if he were to guess. Telepaths were often extremely guarded beings, wanting to protect their minds at all costs. Often, rightfully so.

The Doctor understood that, he truly did. But he was so afraid, so very afraid by that small – hopefully insignificant – moment of familiarity from before. When he felt such deep sorrow as he watched the Dalek scream in pain.

He tripped as he was finally thrust through a doorway, skidding onto his knees. The Doctor glared up at the guards, knowing that the rough handling was completely unnecessary. He had complied, begrudgingly, but he had followed them. And that's when he heard it, hearts actually skipping at the wheezing breaths that echoed in the small, concrete room.

The Doctor prayed in that moment. He prayed to every god he knew and cursed his own naivety. "No," he choked, turning from his crouched position to the source of the noise. "No, no please."

There she was, arms chained above her, hips and ankles pinned to the large metal slab. Her head hung low, pale blonde hair limp and greased with sweat curtaining her face. With each breath, her chest rattled painfully and stuttered harshly through her inhales. An irritated red blush circled her wrists where the metal pinched into her skin, the manacles the only thing keeping her body upright. There was a worrying amount of strain on her shoulders. Nothing but a sports bra and a thin pair of shorts kept her modesty.

The Doctor wondered once, not so long ago, where she had gotten the clinical looking scars on her forearms. They stretched from the base of her wrist to the junction of her elbow. Only there were so many more, more that he hadn't seen. Similar thin scars, the culprit likely a precision scalpel, continued along her inner triceps and further crossed over her collarbones. But they weren't aged and pale like he had seen before. They were pink and angry, puckering rigidly in contrast to her otherwise smooth, pale skin. There were incisions, still threaded with small black stitches, carved into different spots on her torso – most notably the placement of her hearts on either side of her ribs, down the center of her chest, and along her hips. White gauze splattered with a few disarming red splotches was wrapped around her left calf, and the Doctor noted more raised surgical scarring on her thighs and right shin.

He swallowed, trying very hard to resist the urge to vomit. He didn't know, she never told him. Spoilers, she might've said to justify it all, and the Doctor flinched even thinking about that dreaded word.

Van Statten stood entirely too satisfied as he watched the Doctor crumble before him. The Doctor, who stared in horror at Van Statten's most recent project, was shaking. He relished in the fear radiating from the kneeling man.

"I've been calling her E.V.A. – short for extraterrestrial variable anomaly – since we acquired her, oh…seventeen days ago. She just appeared in a flash of golden light. Beautiful, really," Van Statten commented, placing a hand on the Doctor's shoulder and grinning at the way his muscles tensed beneath his fingers. "She wouldn't tell us her name. Do you know her name, Doctor? Because I think you do, and I'd like you to tell me."

"You…um, you said, seventeen days?" The Doctor mumbled, a trembling hand brushing the edge of his firm jaw. His eyes felt wet, and his vision was that specific kind of blurry that meant tears. "Seventeen, is that right?"

Realizing that the tremble of the Doctor's body wasn't from fear, as he had stupidly assumed, but rather a dangerous simmering rage, Van Statten took a few steps back. An angry man was too unpredictable for his tastes.

He cleared his throat, dispelling any hesitance that may have simmered in his throat. "She didn't comply at first," Van Statten started, motioning for his guards behind his back. "Of course, we managed to whittle her down. And I think we learned a lot from her physiology alone. Eventually, she did start answering our questions, not directly though. Answers that fit our inquiries, but didn't really help us along. She's very good with words."

The Doctor's knuckles cracked with how clenched his fist was, the skin taut and white as he pressed his hand into the linoleum floor. Freckles of red surrounding a drain in the corner caught his eye, and he gave up on the hope that the crusty stains on the metal slab were just rust.

She'd been here for seventeen days, and he hadn't protected her. Hadn't known she'd needed him. She should have told him.

Before he knew what was happening, before he could go to her, The Doctor was grabbed once again. He was really getting sick of being manhandled. Truly, he was. This time, though, he struggled in any way he could. Shifting his shoulders, swinging his torso, and even managing to kick at his assailants, he cursed and griped and couldn't even say proper words as he willed them to just let go. Let go. LET GO.

To no avail, of course. He was outnumbered, outmatched, and – frankly – out of his depth at the moment. His judgement was clouded, he couldn't see straight. Only her and the way her breathes shook her ribcage.

Grinning, Van Statten stood just in front of the Doctor, blocking his view. "You know, it's almost too easy," he hummed, tapping the Doctor's nose. "Let's wake her up, shall we? See what she has to say about you."

"Don't touch her!" The Doctor practically growled, a storm brewing in his eyes. "Don't you dare!"

Rolling his eyes, Van Statten ignored the Doctor as he marched up to his specimen. He started by simply flicking her cheek a few times, lips twitching as her shoulders shifted a bit. "Wakey, wakey. C'mon Eva, I have someone I'd like you to see. A mutual friend, if you will," he sung, trying to coax her awake. He flicked her again, harder this time. He wasn't a very patient man.

The Doctor held his breath when he heard the first groan escape her lips, her stomach seeming to roll as she choked on her breaths. Her head lulled to the side, resting against her suspended arm, and she released several wet coughs. Hearts aching, all he could do was watch. First, she breathed in deeply through her nose, and then exhaled slowly through her mouth, repeating the process until she seemed stable enough.

"That's it, welcome back," Van Statten cooed, finger caressing her skin from her hairline to the curve of her throat. She flinched away from his touch, chains rattling, and the Doctor scowled at Van Statten with actual, terrible hate in his gaze.

Eventually, she managed to raise her head fully, though even that seemed a trying task. Dull, grey-blue eyes peeked from behind the matted knots of her tangled hair. Her skin stretched taunt over her cheekbones and she ran her tongue over her lips, hoping to wet the chapped surface. Heavy, dark shadows hung beneath the hallow of her eyes. Exhaustion set in the way her jaw hung pliant and her eyelids kept flicking closed.

The Doctor hurt so completely from the sight that his knees would have buckled when her eyes met his, if he hadn't already been on the ground. He wanted to apologize to her, tell her that he'd get them out of this. Reassure her in any way he could. Only…there was no recognition in those eyes. No relief at the sight of him. No anger at how long it took for him to get there. No nothing. Blank, with maybe a spark of confusion just behind the redness of her eyes.

"Archiver?" The Doctor hesitated, gaze flicking over her face for even the slightest sign that she knew who he was. Because it didn't make sense, it really didn't. She should know him. "Archie? Are you alright?"

Her brows furrowed, and she swallowed a few times before attempting to speak. "You…you know me?" Her voice was dry and cracked through her throat from misuse. She smacked her lips a few times, tongue very sandpaper-like after so long without water. It'd been at least a couple days since her last drink, she was sure.

Archie knew, obviously, that he was a fellow Time Lord. She'd known from the moment she felt the mental brush of his Tardis. And she had immediately locked her mind away from him. Archie had to protect herself, even from her own people. She always had. But maybe she shouldn't have, she thought as she marveled at the overwhelming concern she could see in his gaze. Looking at the man in front of her, forced to kneel by the guards to his sides, she felt something in her chest constrict at the disappoint – and fear? – that settled over his features.

Archie didn't recognize him, but he seemed to know her. The complexities of time, she supposed. Even so, she didn't think he'd hurt her, not if he had the choice.

"Archiver?" Van Statten repeated, a satisfying arch to his brow. "The Archiver, perhaps like the Doctor? The Time Lords and their nameless titles. Fascinating." He clapped his hands, the sound so loud and abrupt that Archie startled in her bonds.

She shook her head, trying to clear the fog that had settled over her mind. Ignoring Van Statten as he continued to boast about his capturing of two rare aliens, apparently the last of their kind. She wasn't surprised by the news. As someone who'd witnessed the hidden horrors of the war as well as been on the front lines, Archie knew how it would end. She always knew, even if she didn't understand quite how or why.

Twisting her wrists, regardless of that awful pinching sensation, she worked slowly from her fingers to her shoulders to loosen the muscles and wake up her limbs. She did the same with her hips and ankles, arching her back as much as she could in her confines. She must have been out for a while.

"I have to say, Archiver, it's nice to finally have a name for you. Though, I'll admit, I was getting rather fond of Eva," Van Statten continued, grin stretching his lips. "Perhaps you'd like a rest, give those poor shoulders of yours a break." He moved between the two Time Lords, motioning once again to his guards. "Tell you what, you can switch places with the Doctor, just for a bit. I can study the male Time Lord, see if anything's different from you, while you just, I don't know, stretch or something."

With a narrowed gaze, Archie regarded Van Statten. "The- um…There's no ne-no need to hurt him," she tried, struggling through her words.

The Doctor smiled, eyes a bit watery. She wanted to protect him, even if she didn't know him. But she should know him, he thought. So why didn't she?

Huffing a laugh, Van Statten circled her once, hands clasped behind his back. "You don't have a choice," he quipped. "I figured you'd know that by now." Waving a hand, Van Statten ordered his men to take her down.

Two men, clearly some type of security based on the obligatory black plated uniform and wide-brimmed hat, stepped forward to unlatch the cuffs digging into her wrists. They were the same two she had seen every time she opened her eyes since that first day, with grim – almost apologetic –faces. Every two days they'd unlock her binds so she could lay on the small cushion in the corner to recuperate for a few blessed hours.

Her lips quirked in the broken remnants of a grateful smile, barely noticeable, as she nodded at the two men. They were kind to her, in the little ways they could be. She leaned heavily on the two, feet sliding along the floor, as she was lowered to her cushion. A moan escaped her chapped lips as her limbs bent in a way they hadn't been allowed in far too long. Fingers immediately curling around thin black fabric, Archie quickly put on the jumper she was permitted between "sessions" and pulled her knees close to her chest. It was too big for her frame and the collar often slipped off her shoulder.

Archie watched as they maneuvered the man called 'The Doctor' onto her slab, eyes sad.

"Hold on, just – just hold on!" The Doctor rushed, struggling again as he was pulled towards the metal slab. His jumper and leather jacket were swiftly removed and his arms were tugged above his head to lock into the braces. He stared at the laser-like machine across from him, trepidation settling in his gut.

"Now smile!" Van Statten grinned from behind the laser.

A red beam of light, accompanied be a mechanical whirring noise, slowly scanned along the Doctor's torso. Archie flinched, looking away with glistening eyes. She rubbed her sleeve along her wet cheek, remembering her own experience with the contraption. The intense pain as it scanned her insides.

"Two hearts! You are the same. Oh, how exciting!" He clapped, gaze sweeping over the image on the monitor in glee. "A binary vascular system! Oh, I am so gonna patent this."

Glaring, the Doctor clicked his jaw. "So, that's you're secret," he started, truly understanding. "You don't just collect this stuff, you scavenge it."

"This technology has been falling to Earth for centuries." Van Statten shrugged, attention flicking between the Doctor and the Archiver alike. "All it took was the right mind to use it properly. Oh, the advances I've made from alien junk. You have no idea, Doctor! Neither of you do!" He paused, glee lighting his eye, smile stretching his lips. "Broadband? Roswell. Just last year, my scientists cultivated bacteria from the Russian crater, and do you know what we found?" He said, as if he actually participated in the excavation. "The cure for the common cold. Kept it strictly within the laboratory, of course. No need to get people excited. Why sell one cure when I can sell a thousand palliatives?"

The Doctor knew for sure, in that moment, that he was dealing with an idiot. Arrogant and clever, maybe, but stupid all the same. "D'you know what a Dalek is, Van Statten?" He noticed Archie recoil out of the corner of his eye, and he feared for her. "A Dalek is honest. It does what it was born to do, for the survival of its species. That creature in your dungeon is better than you."

"In that case, I will be true to myself." Van Statten stared evenly at the Doctor. "And continue."

"Listen to me!" The Doctor implored, eyes wild. "That thing downstairs is gonna kill every last one of us!" And Archie was here. He couldn't let her die, he wouldn't fail her like that. He'd promised himself – and he'd promised her, even if she always laughed off the sentiment.

"Nothing can escape the Cage," Van Statten argued, his confidence surely to be his downfall.

Shaking his head, the Doctor leaned as far forward as he could manage. "But it's woken up!" He felt the way Archie stiffened from her spot on the floor, the fear that radiated from her mind, no matter how closed off she tried to be. "It knows I'm here! It's gonna get out! Van Statten, I swear, no one on this base is safe. No one on this planet!"

Van Statten, of course, ignored the warning. He simple smiled, and switched back on the laser. Listening in the screams of the Doctor, Van Statten folded his arms and reveled in his triumph.

And Archie, cradled in a wave of fear and dread, hunched over her knees. She tapped her thumbs against her shins, fingers sinking into her skin with bruising force, as the Doctor's wails washed over her. "It's awake," she mumbled, teeth scraping along her lower lip. Her muscles bunched beneath the flimsy fabric of her shirt, coiled as if waiting for an attack.

She started to hum the familiar calming lullaby under her breath, and did her best to breathe.

*O*O*

Adam told her to stay back, and maybe she should, but Rose wasn't always one to follow orders. Besides, she was the one with actual experience with aliens here…and even though he didn't know that – she probably should have said something, looking back – Rose was ultimately her own person.

When Rose saw someone or something in pain, she intervened. A wonderful, sometimes dangerous, habit that she had learned from Archie. Rose wasn't about to let her friend down, not after seeing the torture this poor creature was being put through.

The glove felt heavy in her pocket.

As she looked at the chained alien, Rose could only agree with Adam. It looked like a large, strange pepper pot with an odd plunger-looking arm and another whisk-like appendage. The glowing blue eye socket followed Rose as she approached the creature, trailing along her movements in a strangely calculating fashion.

"Hello?" She started, looking closely into it's one eye. "Are you in pain? My name's Rose Tyler. I've got a friend, he can help. A couple friends actually, but one of them's wandered off. She does that." A soft chuckled escaped her lips, but she looked back towards the creature with compassionate eyes. "He's called the Doctor. What's your name?"

"Yes." As it spoke, the lights on its dome flashed.

Confused, Rose tilted her head. "What?"

"I. Am. In. Pain." It rattled, voice metallic and unnerving. "They. Torture. Me. Like. They. Torture. Her." And Rose wondered, as the creature continued, who 'her' was. "But. Still. They. Fear. Me…Do. You. Fear. Me?"

"No," Rose said immediately, but she couldn't help that small speck of fright she carried with her any time she encountered something so unknown. It'd been there when she first met the Doctor and Archie.

It's eye lowered, somehow showing resignation in an otherwise completely emotionless shell. "I. Am. Dying."

"No, we can help!" Rose insisted, brows furrowing at the dejected tone of the creature.

Lights flashing, the creature continued. "I. Welcome. Death. But. I. Am. Glad. That. Before. I. Die. I. Met. A. Human. Who. Was. Not. Afraid."

Eyes watering, Rose swallowed passed the lump in her throat, feeling oddly choked up. "Isn't there anything I can do?"

"My. Race. Is. Dead." It revealed, pain lacing the words. "I. Shall. Die. Alone."

Her heart ached for this poor creature, alone in the universe much as the Doctor and Archie were…or, had been. Rose, in an attempt to comfort, raised her hand towards the alien.

"Rose, no!" Adam shouted, but it was already too late.

Rose's hand had barely skimmed the surface of the creature's shell when an intense burning sensation caused her arm to shoot back. A perfect print of her hand shown brightly against the dull, rusted metal of the dome.

"Genetic. Material. Extrapolated! Initiate. Cellular. Reconstruction!" It screeched, swiveling back and forth in its chains. The links bent from the force of the creature's pulling, eventually snapping with a terrifying clinking sound. Sparks flew, bouncing off the concrete walls and lighting the room in bursts of friction.

What had she done?


	3. I'm sorry, say that again?

**A/N: Hey everyone! This chapter took much longer to writ than I anticipated. I'm just going to stop making promises and try and update as often as possible. I apologize that it will be irregular and may have long breaks in between, but I'm still trying to get organized on my end. Please enjoy the chapter and I hope to add another soon enough!**

**Special thank to my reviewers for the previous chapter: Karen0610, bored411, savethemadscientist, and YourHomeGirlJen**

**I love hearing from you guys and look forward to future feedback!**

* * *

"What the hell have you done?" Simmons barked, marching passed Rose and Adam with the large drill gripped tightly in his hands. He wasn't scared, or didn't seem that way, with the angry arch to his brow and hard voice.

Rose could only watch as the large metal creature turned towards the approaching Simmons, something heavy and frightening settling in her gut. This creature, despite its harrowing plight of pain and loneliness, was dangerous. So, very dangerous. A kind of sickening, hopeless danger Rose hadn't encountered in her time with the Doctor and Archie thus far.

They'd had close calls before, more than Rose was entirely comfortable with if she was honest, but they always made it out. Always worked through it. This…this didn't feel like one of those times.

Its plunger-like appendage raised towards Simmons. The man let out a throaty chuckle, arrogance and naivety coating his tongue as he spoke. "What ya gonna do? Sucker me to death?" And it really did, the plunger lunging forward to attach to the curves of Simmons' face. The man's scream was muffled as the appendage literally took his breath away, crushing his jaw. Rose could hear the bones crackling beneath his skin.

Panic seized her chest and Rose ran, as she so often did on her adventures with the Doctor. "It's killing him! Do something!" She hurried from the cell, Adam not far behind.

"Condition Red! Condition Red!" One of the guards announced over an intercom. "I repeat, this is not a drill!"

The announcement echoed around the halls, an alarm blaring just under the surface. And Van Statten, once feeling so proud and mighty as he watched the Doctor convulse on that crusty metal slab, felt terror hover in the air.

Archie glanced up from her position on the floor, thumbs still tapping nervously against her knees, and a smile so utterly heartbreaking split her features. "Van Statten," she started, a tremor bobbing in her throat. "You are, without a doubt, one of the stupidest men I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. And you might've killed us all, but you just got lucky."

"Lucky?" Van Statten repeated, eyes wide as the red lights flashed. Was she mad? She must be, after all he'd done to her.

Red, Archie thought, humans always picked red for emergency – never mind the universal codes for such things. Mauve made so much more sense, couldn't they see? "Well," she coughed as she struggled to stand, limbs cracking from the movement. It felt good, it truly did, even as her stitches pulled and something rattled quite oddly in her ribcage. She limped towards the Doctor, motioning for the two guards who had helped her earlier. "You've got the last two surviving Time War soldiers at your disposal, the only ones in the universe who can take on the Dalek you've ignorantly underestimated. I call that pretty lucky, wouldn't you?"

The Doctor, hearts warming at the spunk he saw in his Archiver despite the pain he knew she was in, stared resolutely at Van Statten. "Release me if you want to live," he spoke, voice laden with authority.

"Oh, you…um, you're a tad dramatic, aren't you?" Archie quirked a brow, seeming on the verge of unimpressed. There was no need really, tensions were already high enough.

Van Statten nodded to the Doctor, not that he had much of a choice, and allowed the guards to unlock him from the binds.

Sighing at the release of pressure on his wrists and shoulders, the Doctor swiftly threw on his jumper and leather coat, glad to have the modesty back – even if he wasn't exactly the insecure type, not with his body anyway. Glancing at his companion, his entirely confusing and complicated companion, the Doctor noticed how she favored her left leg. Those disarming red splotches on the white gauze spreading rather quickly. And she held her right side, likely to stabilize her shaken ribs, if he had to guess.

He moved as if to help her, support her if he could, but she flinched away. She'd never done that to him before, and a coldness spread through his chest. He never wanted her to react that way to him, never. "Archie, please, I just want to help," he tried, but she still just looked at him. So, guarded; so, confused. He didn't understand! She should know him!

"Look," she breathed, brows furrowing when her voice came out choked and rough. She cleared her throat, swallowing what saliva she had to wet her vocal cords. "Look, this isn't the time. I get – I'm sorry I don't know you, but I can tell you know me. We'll work it out later, and you should – you really should – know how complicated time can be," she swallowed again, an ache pulsing in her jaw from talking so much. "I just – we…we have a bit of a situation to deal with first."

Always the voice of reason, he knew…yeah, he knew she was right. But he had so many questions! They flit along the walls of his throat, aching to escape. There wasn't time though, there really wasn't. So, he just huffed, features grim, and tried hard not to scowl when one of the guards from earlier helped her skirt through the halls instead.

Once they, finally, made it back to Van Statten's office – after a rather tense and overly crowded lift experience – the Doctor bolted towards the monitors on the back wall. "You've got to keep it in that cell!" There must have been a microphone somewhere as Rose and Adam seemed to hear the Doctor's plea, turning towards the camera.

"Doctor, it's all my fault," Rose murmured, heart in her throat. She wrapped her arms around her middle, as if that could somehow protect her. She wanted to be strong, but she felt so terribly afraid. Counting to five under her breath, Rose slowed her rapidly beating, just like she'd been taught by her friend.

"Oh, love," Archie hummed, moving just a tad closer to the monitor. Sadness spread through her hearts at the distressed young blonde on the screen. She was just a child. "There's no fault in an accident. You didn't know."

"Archie! Is that you?!" Rose beamed, relief settling her tense shoulders. Archie always knew what to do, how to help. But her face fell, eyes landing on the prone figure of her friend – the bleach blonde one this time. Rose probably would have bet on ginger, it'd been awhile since she'd seen that Archiver. "A-are you alright? What happened to you? Where've you come from?"

Knowing this wasn't the time to share that she didn't know the young girl – because, really, none of them needed the added stress – Archie went along with it. Even if she was rather curious about the tail end of her questions. "Never you mind, love," she passed what was hopefully an acceptable grin, but maybe not so when she saw the worried look in the girl's eyes. "Let's just focus on getting you all to safety, yeah?"

Rose bit her lip, wanting to question her, to understand what was going on. Archie never lied, especially not in situations like this – dangerous and life-threatening. It was a principle she'd always held herself to, she'd told Rose not so long ago. She'd comfort Rose, sure, but her Archie would also be blunt, make sure everyone understood exactly what was happening because knowing was so important for staying alive. Withholding anything important could mean death.

And, while Archie wasn't necessarily lying right now, she was holding something back. Something big, Rose could tell. This, none of this, was right; only confirmed when Rose chanced a peak at the Doctor at the edge of the screen. He looked entirely…sad, and more scared than he'd ever been in front of her before.

Maybe this was spoilers, Rose thought, eyes flicking between her two friends and the odd stretch of space between them. Spoilers were complicated, they were the exception, but that didn't feel quite right to say either. Nobody had said the word.

Before any comments were made, the soldier just behind Rose jumped in. "I've sealed the compartment. He can't get out. That lock has got a billion combinations," He assured, some hope lacing his words.

"The Dalek's a genius," the Doctor stated, shoulders tense. "It can calculate a thousand billion combinations in one second flat."

"Wow, dramatic and grim, you are," Archie huffed from beside him, a tiny quirk to her lips. He was amusing though, if nothing else. "Alright, lovelies, time to listen." She looked to the camera, tapping the side of her nose twice. The action made the Doctor smile, if only a little, and Rose was certainly paying closer attention. "That Dalek will escape, I'm sorry to say. It's going to get out soon and it's going to kill you, given the chance. Get out, right now. Just run, and we'll do what we can on our end to help you out."

Rose nodded, brow furrowing at the way Archie seemed strangely…dismissive of the Doctor? But that couldn't be right. Blonde Archie may have been a bit – distant, maybe? – when she'd seen the woman last, but this just didn't make any sense. Granted, she'd only met blonde Archie the one time, maybe this was just how she was. Rose didn't think so though.

The glove, a light beige and aged, was tucked into her pocket. Weighted with what could have happened to her friend, and she felt so useless because of it.

"Alright everyone, we have to go, you heard her," Rose announced, trying to gain the attention of the small group in the chamber. "That Dalek will be getting out soon, so we need to go!"

They didn't listen, of course. Rose was just a teenager and that ill-looking woman hardly had the authority to order them away from their positions. Not when they had a duty to serve, people to protect. The two soldiers stepped in front of the civilians, each pointing guns at the hatch door, and they waited with baited breadth.

"No, no, no," Archie muttered, knowing in her hearts that they wouldn't listen. They never did. And she felt that familiar sadness creeping up her throat and blocking her airway. "You have to leave, damnit."

The door, expectedly, swung open when the right combination had been inputted. As the Dalek slid from its cell, the soldiers started firing, sparks flying.

"Don't shoot it!" Van Statten ordered. "I want it unharmed!" He shrunk, though, beneath the Archiver's harsh gaze. That glare that she'd sent his way every so often. It was unnerving, truly, how she could seem so intimidating even in such a weakened state. The way her posture would stiffen and her face would go blank, but the arch of her brow and the deep loathing that sparked in her eyes would drill into anyone's resolve. Van Statten felt like a scolded child under that gaze.

Unfortunately, the Doctor couldn't quite enjoy the sight of an admonished Van Statten. Not when his companions, and the entire planet really, were still in danger. "Rose, get out of there!" The Doctor shouted, anxiety curling in his stomach. He didn't like how close she was to the disgusting creature. Nope, not one bit.

Bullets bounced off the Dalek's shell as it moved through the space, and Archie had to admit, she was shocked it hadn't tried to kill anyone yet. Maybe it was damaged, from travel or from the torture, either one was likely. But still, not even a threat. She was sure it was the Dalek she had spoken to before, and it had hesitated to kill her then too. But the Dalek didn't need the humans, not like it thought it needed her. So, what was the Dalek up to?

Archie frowned, lacing her fingers behind the base of her skull and closing her eyes to think. Stretching her arms like that may have been a bad idea as her ribs ruffled just beneath her skin quite painfully, but, then again, sometimes pain helped her think.

"De Maggio, take the civilians and get them out alive," The guard ordered his partner, giving her a rather intense look. "That is your job, got that?"

"You," De Maggio motioned to Rose and Adam. "With me!" And the three of them left, dashing from the chamber hoping to get as much of a head start as they could.

The Dalek approached the camera, calculating in its movements. And the Doctor watched, staring at the creature that had destroyed his people, that had forced him to make such a terrible decision. The screen cut to black, the last image the Dalek's sucker as it lunged at the monitor.

Quickly, they moved to the central computer on Van Statten's desk. Goddard, wanting to be useful, brought up the facility's files and networking systems to see what the Dalek was doing. "We're losing power. It's draining the base." She started, her tone breathless. "Oh my god, it's draining the entire power supplies of the whole of Utah."

He knew, in that moment, that the Dalek was fixing itself, and it was learning. The situation just got that much more complicated. "It's downloading," he added, grim and fearful.

"Downloading what?" Van Statten asked, all three of them somewhat comically lined up in front of the computer.

Archie scoffed from her spot still by the monitor from before, flexing her fingers along her neck. "You ask such dumb questions, Van Statten," she commented, looking rather sad as she said so. "And I don't say that lightly. I'm usually quite a firm believer that there are no dumb questions. But you, sir, have been trying my patience. Blind in your arrogance, truly. You own the internet, and now the Dalek has access to your software. It's downloading the internet, can't you see? It knows everything now."

She didn't sound nearly as concerned as she should have, the other three looking at her quite incredulously. This was bad, very bad. She knew that, but questions like that would only waste time. Time they didn't have. They had to think of solutions, not repeat the problem.

"You don't seem very worried," Van Statten growled, teeth bared at the young women. "Are you working together? My two precious specimens turning against me. Is this some kind of revenge? Going to slit our throats when we're not looking?"

He was expecting an angry response from her, maybe that glare that unsettled him so much, but he did not anticipate the Doctor retaliating. Fingers gripping the collar of his expensive suit, Van Statten stared into a pair of very angry blue eyes and gulped in a coward-like fashion.

"How dare you even insinuate –" the Doctor cut himself off, breathing deeply and counting to five in his head. He barely thought about his words as they left his lips. "You don't know her, you only broke her. Don't you even –"

"Doctor, stop." Her voice, low and shattered, pulled him from his rage. It was the first time Archie had said his name since she woke up. He looked over at her, at the way her pale knotted locks curtained over her lowered face and how her arms wrapped protectively around her middle, fingers dancing along her probably aching ribs. She looked cold, with her always shaking hands and bare legs. "Now is not the time," she placated, tone firm even as he thought he spotted what might have been a tear trailing down her cheek. He couldn't be sure though, as she turned away from them to…walk towards the exit?

"Wha-where are you going?!" The Doctor rushed, dropping the billionaire as he moved towards Archie. Wanting to reach for her, but the thought of her flinching away from him again…he just couldn't. His hand hovered uselessly between them. He thought about reaching out to her mentally, but she was still so closed off to him. She was standing right in front of him, and he couldn't even feel the brush of her mental barriers. Completely locked away from him.

She raised a brow at the man in front of her, it truly hitting her that he knew her. That they must have been close, and that he was – quite honestly – afraid for her. "I know this Dalek, and I know this facility better than he thinks I do," she explained, fingers brushing her temple and gaze flicking briefly to a bewildered Van Statten. "I know where they are, and I know where's it's going. I can intercept the Dalek, maybe find a weapon from testing on the way down if I need it, if I have the time. Hopefully before it kills anyone else, but I wouldn't bet on my speed at the moment."

"You can't just – You honestly think I'm just going to let you go down there and get yourself killed." The Doctor's brow furrowed, fingers curling at his sides as he resisted the urge to drag her away. The thought of her down there, holding a gun she so despised, putting herself in danger. No, please no.

Eyes closing briefly with a soft sigh, Archie matched her gaze to the Doctor's, a hardness surfacing that had his hearts aching. What he wouldn't give for just a spark of recognition in those light eyes of hers. "You have to trust me, Doctor," Archie implored, taking another step towards the exit. "I can tell you already do, that we're close in some way. I don't know you, not yet, but that just means this is my first time, right? We'll work through it, but right now you need to trust that I know what I'm doing."

The Doctor frowned because…no, that wasn't right. It wasn't her first… "Archiver, what regeneration is this for you?" He asked cautiously, fearful of the answer.

Archie raised a brow, something hallow settling in her hearts. "This is my fifth…" she responded finally, voice trailing at the end when he only seemed to stiffen, blue eyes wide and so very confused.

Shaking his head, the Doctor stumbled a few horrified steps back. "No, Archie, it's not," he said, voice falling rather flat.

"What are you –"

"Archiver," the Doctor interrupted, stature resolute as he watched her wilting form. "I promise you, this is not your fifth regeneration. I have met your fifth, and I have met this you before too. Sometime in your future. This you, this is your sixth regeneration."

Shaking her head, Archie resisted the urge to deny him. She knew he wasn't lying – she could tell, and somehow that was even more damning – but Archie really wished he was. Missing the memories of an entire regeneration? She'd never heard of that happening before, and she would know – it was in her job description.

Feeling panic rising in her throat, the cells beneath her skin buzzing in a way that told her she wasn't meant to be here, Archie focused on her breathing. As she did, she counted to five, lips moving with the numbers. Five seconds, she only allowed five seconds. Ending with a deep breath that slowed her panic, leaving it simmering just behind her eyes.

"It doesn't matter," Archie clicked, running a trembling hand through her hair, sighing when her fingers caught painfully on the knots – like they had when she'd been speaking to the Dalek not so long ago. Only it was, apparently, much longer than she'd thought. "We really don't have the time, Doctor, not now. I'm sorry, but you need to trust me, and you need to let me go."

Knowing he had no choice, that she'd go with or without his agreement, the Doctor nodded. He didn't like the way she said that, 'let me go', as if he ever would. Ever could. She'd asked that of him before, and it was quickly becoming one of his least favorite set of words. Right next to 'spoilers'. Nothing good came from those words.

So, he watched with heavy hearts as she sped out of the office, somehow managing to move rather quickly despite the limp. The doors sliding shut sounded far too…final for his tastes.

"The cameras in the vault have gone down," Goddard muttered through the awkward silence that had descended.

Deep breaths. One, two, three, four, five. "We've only got emergency power," the Doctor quipped, sliding back towards the computer. "It's eaten everything else. You've got to kill it now!" Because if they managed it, which he didn't think was likely, then Rose would be safe. The Archiver would be safe.

"All guards to converge on the Metaltron Cage immediately," Goddard spoke into her earpiece, voice steady even as her hands shook.

Gunfire echoed from the comms, and they could hear the odd droning sound every time the Dalek shot at their people. Men and women going down in record time, with a final choked gasp of agony.

"Tell them to stop shooting at it," Van Statten ordered, a snarl curving his lips unpleasantly.

"But it's killing them!" Goddard pleaded.

Van Statten waved a hand flippantly, scoffing under his breath. "They're dispensable, that Dalek is unique. I don't want a scratch on its bodywork! Do you hear me?" There was no response as the soldiers continued firing. "Do you hear me?!" He repeated, anger coating his words.

The sound of bullets tapered off until all that was left was an eerie silence. No breath, not shouting, no people. It settled the air in the office, making it stale and tense.

Swallowing, Goddard moved back towards the computer and pulled up the map of the facility. "That's us, just below the surface," she started, voice tame and sad. "That's the Cage, and that's the Dalek."

"This museum of yours, have you really got weapons?" The Doctor asked, remembering Archie mentioning a testing lab that she might be able to pass on her way down. He clenched his jaw, willing thoughts of her away. He couldn't help if he allowed himself to be distracted by his worry.

"Lots of them, but the trouble is the Dalek's between us and them," Goddard explained, motioning to a point on the screen.

"We've got to keep that thing alive," Van Statten interrupted. The funny thing was, he still thought he was in charge. "We could just seal the entire vault, trap it down there."

Throat constricting, the Doctor glared quite harshly at the billionaire. "Leaving everyone trapped with it?" He barked, nostrils flaring. "Rose is down there, and Archie's probably getting close by now with how fast she was moving. I won't let that happen, have you got that?" He gestured back towards the monitor. "It has to go through this area. What's that?"

"Weapons testing, like your friend said," Goddard continued, eyes flicking between the two men.

Nodding, knowing Archie was headed there, the Doctor looked to Goddard. "Give guns to technicians, the lawyers, anyone, everyone. Only then have you got a chance of killing it," he told her, watching the computer. Another dot of light appeared on the screen a decent way from the location of the Dalek, because of course Van Statten had put some kind of tracker on her, and the Doctor grinned, if a bit sadly. "Your odds just went up, Archie is almost there."

"This…Archiver," Goddard hesitated, not wanting to implore the rage she'd seen in the Doctor's eyes. But she was curious. "She's a soldier of the Time War, like you?"

The Doctor huffed, crossing his arms. "She had a larger part in the war than I ever did," he admitted, brow furrowed as he looked to the ground. She was more than just a soldier during the war. He wished he'd known, maybe he could have protected her. The Doctor resisted the urge to pout, because he still didn't know. Not really, and it was honestly quite frustrating.

"But, weren't you the one who ended it?" Goddard asked, head tilted. "That's what you said to the Dalek, that you'd watched them all burn. The Daleks and the Time Lords."

Shrugging, the Doctor looked at the young women, so scared in her perch behind the desk. "Sure, I may have made that terrible, final decision. But I was a coward, I ran for most of it. Travelled the universe with people like Rose for centuries before I went back. Archie never had the luxury of cowardice." He moved back towards the computer. "Granted, I'm still learning about her, I don't know all of the details, but I do know that she didn't have much choice back in those days."

*O*O*

The funny thing about pain tolerance was that it worked like any other muscle. When challenged, it would build up its own stamina, able to withstand harsher pressures and different methods of pain. Without those challenges, it wilted so that even the prick of a pin warranted tears. Archie was no stranger to testing her limits, to pushing her body to go beyond what she thought it capable of.

She'd already forgotten the stinging sensation in her shin, even as blood soaked through the bandaging and slicked her bare foot. She didn't slip, though, turning tight corners and making her way down the floors via stairwell. Because they'd go to the stairs, obviously thinking the Dalek couldn't make its way up that way. And they'd be wrong, of course.

Honestly, Archie was more focused on the distracting thoughts passing behind her eyelids than the way her lungs rattled in her chest with her heavy breaths. She couldn't afford the distraction, she really couldn't, but the Doctor had just shattered the reality she had accepted for herself after she woke up from the war. A war she never wanted to wake up from.

She had accepted her future as an experiment, an exhibit in an underground museum. That it was punishment for all that she'd done, because death had been too good for her. She'd gotten used to the surgeries and the tests. The interrogations. She'd had some fun with her answers, closing Van Statten in a loop of information he'd never work his way out from.

But now…so very far from where she'd started.

A missing regeneration…how was that even possible? She just didn't understand. The Doctor had said that he'd met her fifth self, and that he already knew a future version of who she was now. One that knew him, and hadn't warned him about any of this. That meant she was appearing to him out of order. This wasn't a necessarily uncommon happenstance for Time Lords or other time travelers, but the way he had made it seem…like she was bouncing around his timeline. Like there may be even more versions of her.

She wasn't sure how to feel about any of it. Maybe scared, maybe more confused than she was. Perhaps even skeptical, she didn't know him after all. It could all be some trick, if she was willing to delude herself into that. He didn't seem like the type to lie to her though, not if he could help it.

And that young blonde girl, Rose, she knew Archie too. Asked about where she'd come from, as if Archie popping into the middle of one of their excursions was a regular thing. She wasn't sure how to feel about that either, about travelling again…with companions – a human, no less. It'd been so long, and it was so hard before. Could she do that again?

And, if more time had passed than she thought and she didn't know how she truly ended up here – because, now that she thought about it, she had felt grass just after her regeneration – then maybe this wasn't the same Dalek. It was more of an unknown than she had anticipated, and she just wished she could move faster.

Archie caught herself just before she tripped down a flight of stairs, fingers gripping the metal railing and chest heaving. There was a stripe of blood across the floor where her foot had slid on the concrete, and there was definitely another bruise forming on her hip where she'd just collided with the metal railing.

"Breathe, Archiver, breathe." She closed her eyes, willing her panic to subside. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale. Repeat. "Five seconds, only five seconds to feel it all, and then you keep moving forward. That's how it goes, that's how you help. Work the rest out later." She loosened her grip on the railing, palm aching from the pressure.

She counted to five for the second time that day, allowing her emotions to wash over her. To let herself feel them. The confusion and fear, and a bit of anger if she was honest. She counted, lips mouthing each number. When she got to five, her back straitened, features hardening, and she continued down the stairs.

She was making good time. She'd reach them soon.

*O*O*

"I thought you were the great expert, Doctor," Van Statten mocked, brow raised at the Doctor. He somehow managed to perfect the laughable combination of condescending and ignorant. "If you're so impressive, then why not just reason with this Dalek? It must be willing to negotiate. There must be something it needs. Everything needs something."

"What's the nearest town?" The Doctor asked quickly, gaze intent on the computer. Watching the Dalek…watching Archie as she got closer.

"Salt Lake City."

"Population?"

"One million."

"All dead." The Doctor's stone eyes connected with Van Statten's, the stare grave. "If the Dalek gets out, it'll murder every living creature. That's all it needs." Hearts hammering in his chest, he willed Van Statten to just understand so he could focus. He needed to focus so he could get everyone out of there alive!

Scoffing, incredulous, Van Statten could feel himself unravelling. "But why would it do that?!"

Eyes now quite sad, the Doctor spoke softly, "Because it honestly believes they should die. Human beings are different, and anything different is wrong. It's the ultimate racial cleansing, and you, Van Statten, you've let it loose!" He got a bit angry towards the end there, but hey, he figured he was entitled when his friends were still in so much danger.

"And the Archiver?" Van Statten snarled, ignoring the warning that flashed in the Doctor's eyes. "What's she gonna do, huh? Or do you even know? You act like she's so important to you, but it seems to me like you barely know each other. She'd only just met you today!"

"It's complicated, and hardly any of your business," the Doctor huffed, rolling his eyes and going back to the monitor. "She knows what she's doing. And right now, she may just be our only hope."

It got pretty quiet after that. The Doctor just watched the moving lights on the screen, throat constricting when he saw Archie skip passed weapons testing all together, approaching the storage area that Rose was almost to.

Even though he believed what he'd said to Van Statten, the Doctor couldn't help but wonder what the hell his Archiver was doing.

*O*O*

Everyone knew that odd crusty feeling of dried paint as it crackled along skin and peeled like a scab. Archie had stopped leaving red footprints on the concrete a few halls back, which meant there was no more fresh blood and her leg had stopped bleeding – for the moment anyway. But she was left with that unpleasant crusty sensation, of bits of dried blood prickling between her toes and causing tension on the stretch of her heel and ankle. She preferred the slickness. It made cutting corners much more interesting.

She guessed it counted as a worthwhile distraction though. As she focused on the chaffing of blood on her foot, she didn't have to think about the chaos dancing at the back of her mind. Of missing regenerations, and doctors, and companions. Of genocidal aliens escaping from their torture chamber, a creature she could unfortunately relate to quite well. Of Time Wars and an end she had craved so dearly.

Instead of that, Archie thought about how the collar of her black jumper slipped off her shoulder for the hundredth time, so she just left it there. Scarred throat exposed. She winced as her knotted hair brushed along her cheeks, upset it had gotten so agitated over her stay in the museum. A museum she might be leaving soon – a sobering thought.

But then, there was noise beyond the slap of her bare feet on the concrete or her labored breathing between bruised ribs or the alarm echoing in her eardrums – though she'd tuned that last one out by now. It was a shrill sound, quite grating on her ears.

Boots stomping and guns clicking. People were running through the facility, crashing through each other as they armed themselves and anyone else with hands. One soldier Archie passed on the way handed her a gun without a second glance, but Archie wasn't one to use guns if she could help it. She didn't like guns. She stashed it behind a pillar for someone else to find and use.

And these ones, in particular, would be no help against the Dalek anyway.

Just as Archie dodged through the crowd, about to leave the storage area and continue forward, the intercom buzzed to life.

"The Dalek's surrounded by a force field," the Doctor's voice carried throughout the facility, bouncing off the walls. "The bullets are melting before they even hit home. But it's not indestructible. If you concentrate your fire, you might get through."

Archie closed her eyes, a deep frown curving her lips. Her thumbs tapped her sides. "That's false hope, Doctor," she muttered just under her breath, anxiety clogging her throat. "It's going to kill them all, don't you see? You fought in the war, I know you did, you must know. You should have told them to run."

"Aim for the dome," the Doctor continued, "The head, the eyepiece. That's the weak spot."

"Thank you, Doctor," A soldier, likely high rank, responded into his headset from up in the scaffolding. He was arrogant too, with nostrils flared snidely. "But, I think I know how to fight one single tin robot." He paused, taking stalk of his comrades scattered throughout the facility. "Positions!"

Nose twitching and a strange itch pulling between her shoulder blades, Archie felt her skin shutter along her muscles. It was like her body was warning her, scratching at her cells as they buzzed. Her cheek burned with the gentle caress of fingers.

She opened her mouth to warn them, to get everyone to run, but she couldn't force the words out. Her throat constricted, like she was drowning and couldn't get enough air, but she was still breathing. Chest heaving as she sucked in the air she needed, ribs aching and crackling with every inhale. Her hands trembled, worse than usual, and everything felt wrong, wrong, wrong.

Looking down at her palms, Archie swallowed when she swore her fingers phased out of focus. They didn't disappear completely, but they seemed to blur as she moved them, like motion tracking slow movements, before stuttering back into full clarity. Almost as if she was executing her own temporal shift without any equipment.

And it hurt. Archie's cells were splitting apart, trying to figure out where to go like they didn't belong in this place or time. Similar to that tremor she felt just under skin when she first woke up strapped to that table, only the pins and needles were now more like hot knives slipping between each of her cells.

She simmered in the pain for a moment, breathing and counting until she remembered where she was. Archie had to help, to save these people if she could, if there was still time. She willed her hands to still as much as she could, to settle her disgruntled cells, and clench her jaw through the pain. They still shook, of course, and every once in a while her pinky stuttered against her palm, but she'd pushed the feeling away for now.

Just in time too, it seemed, as Rose and the intern – Adam, Archie was pretty sure his name was – curved just around the corner, running as fast as they could.

"Hold your fire!" The Commander ordered, allowing the trio through. "You two, get the hell out of there!"

Rose, in her moment of pause at the sight of so many guns pointed in her direction, spotted just out of the corner of her eye…Archie? Dressed in a much too large black jumper and small white shorts. Bruised, bloody, and looking very confused with her hands held out in front of her, palms up. Shaking like she was in the middle of a blizzard without a coat.

"Archie," Rose breathed, pausing next to her friend. Hesitating when she lifted a hand to the taller woman's shoulder, she noted how Archie recoiled from her reach – if only a little. Her shiny, pale blue eyes trembled, flitting between Rose, her hands, and their surroundings like a caged animal. Rose thought she probably shouldn't have been hurt by the reaction – because Archie had obviously been through something traumatic just before popping into this adventure – but she was. She didn't understand what was going on, why Archie was here or what had happened to her. But there wasn't time! "Archiver, are you alright? What-what are you doing down here? The Doctor, he –"

"You know me," Archie mumbled, staring at the young blonde in front of her without recognition. "How? Why? I don't understand what's happening to me. What's going on, Rose?" She sounded lost in a way Rose had never heard before, words stuttering passed her lips.

And, finally, it clicked for Rose. The lack of recognition in her eyes. That feeling that she was holding something back. The distance between her and the Doctor. The Archiver didn't know her at all, which didn't make any sense, but that wasn't the point. Archie didn't know her right now, that's what mattered. Rose just didn't know where to go from there, how to help her friend.

"Rose, we have to go, now!' Adam hollered, bouncing on his toes over by the exit. His eyes flicked between the two girls, settling uncertainly on Archie. Guilt clawed at his throat at the sight of her, knowing what Van Statten had done to her for weeks. And he'd just watched. "Now, Rose!"

Brows furrowed in worry, Rose took a deep breath. "C'mon," Rose huffed, wrapping her finger around Archie's wrist despite the flinch it garnered. "We'll work the rest out later. For now, let's live, shall we?" Attempting to pull Archie along, Rose gasped when the woman's hand slipped out of her grip.

Archie took a few steps back, a sorrowful grin curling her lips. "Sorry, love," She quipped, seeming to have come back to herself. A confidence that wasn't there before squared her shoulders. Like a soldier, her distress having disappeared as if it was never there to begin with. Archie had always been good at that, at closing herself off when she felt was necessary. Like the flip of a switch, she could do it so quickly. It made Rose sad when she thought about it. "I can stop it, right here and now. No one else has to die."

That familiar whirring sound echoed from the way Rose and Adam had come, cusping the edge just as the Dalek slid from around the corner. The creature paused, gaging the warehouse before its eye socket swept over the trio at the back. Blue gaze glimpsing over Archie briefly before settling intently on Rose. Focusing on her.

Shaking her head, Archie's brows furrowed. There was something…different about that Dalek. Glancing over her shoulder, Archie followed Adam and Rose a few paces down the hall. "Rose, the Dalek was looking at you. Why?" She questioned, standing in the way of the pair.

"Yeah, it wants to slaughter us!" Adam asserted, glaring at the Archivist as she blocked them. He wanted to run, to get as far as they could from that…monster.

Ignoring the lad, Archie stepped up to Rose, hands resting on the young girl's cheeks. She looked down at Rose, gaze flicking across her uncertain expression. "Rose, love, what did you feel?"

"It was looking right at me," Rose whispered, one of her hands rising to lace her fingers with Archie's on her cheek. She was comforting, more like home than the Powell Estate ever had been. Her and the Doctor. "I don't know. It's like…it's like there's something inside looking at me, like…like it knows me."

"Because it does," Archie sighed, giving Rose's hand a brief squeeze. "You travel with the Doctor, yeah? And then you touched the Dalek, when it was damaged and dying. It kind of burned your hand a bit?" At Rose's rather hesitant nod, Archie felt her hearts lift. "Marvelous, Rose Tyler, you are simply marvelous. You've made all the difference in the world, love."

"Wait, you just said my –"

But, before Rose could say anything or Archie could explain, gunfire rippled through the air.

Archie ducked out of instinct, hands dropping from Rose's face as she maneuvered around the two, back towards the archway into the facility. Something sparked just to her left. Looking over, she gulped when she noticed the singed wiring of the fire alarm. The automatic sprinklers rained down on the soldiers, who didn't give the water a second thought, but they should have. They really should have.

One blue gaze connecting with another, and Archie knew they had to get out of there. It wasn't time yet, and she couldn't save them. Not when she knew they wouldn't listen.

Posture stiffening at the sound of screams, Archie willed the regret and guilt to simmer just beneath the surface. She couldn't waste time on those feelings right now, on the people dying behind her, because she couldn't stop it. But maybe, just maybe, she could protect the rest of the planet.

"Right lovelies, let's run," Archie clapped, gesturing with a twerk of her head down the hall. Adam was only too happy to follow instructions. Rose not far behind, with Archie cusping the back of their small group – the latter grimacing as another ripple of her cells arched along her spine.

But something hopeful, even under the circumstances, blossomed in Rose's chest. A small smile pulled at her lips as she ran. Archie said her name, her full name. Rose Tyler. Maybe, maybe she hadn't forgotten them, not completely anyway.

*O*O*

"We've got vision!" Goddard announced, the sound of the bullets ricocheting off metal spilled from the monitor. They had a decent visual of the Dalek as it slid along the concrete, pausing in the middle of the storage unit. They could see the glimmer of light surrounding the Dalek as it melted the bullets.

The Doctor stood, staring quite intently at the monitor. He felt his chest quiver as he watched, hope curling in his throat even as reality threatened to crush him. Rose wasn't there, she must have passed that space already. And neither was Archie, so hopefully the two of them managed to get away – though he wouldn't bet on Archie. She'd be just as likely to confront the Dalek, given the chance.

"It wants us to see," The Doctor muttered, anger simmering in his gaze as he watched the Dalek sit there. And the gunfire continued, grating on his ears. He hated guns, he really did. It was something he and the Archiver had in common, their dislike of guns. Though, from what little he knew about her, Archie had been forced to compromise on that ideal quite often in the past. He'd never allow that to happen again, not if he had a say in it.

The Dalek clearly had a plan as it stilled under the rain of bullets. Its blue eye socket swiveling rather calmly around the room, eventually focusing on a little red box on the back wall. The fire alarm.

Breath hitching, the Doctor frowned when the emergency sprinklers went off, drenching the soldiers. He knew what was coming and cursed himself for being unable to help. And there, at the very back exit, was a flash of matted blonde hair and a black jumper. Archie was there, and the Doctor swore his hearts stopped for a moment when her and the Dalek seemed to lock stares. And then she was running, and he managed to breathe again even as the sounds of screaming soldiers stung his ears.

When the screaming stopped, a heavy silence settled in Van Statten's office. The Doctor mourned for the lost lives, eyes closed. But Archie was alive, and Rose likely was too, and he could take some comfort from knowing that.

"Perhaps," Van Statten swallowed, looking rather shocked towards the monitor. "It's time for a new strategy. Maybe we should consider abandoning this place."

"Except there's no power to the helipad, sir," Goddard commented, tears shining in her eyes. "We can't get out."

"You said we could seal the vault?" The Doctor asked, glare shifting to Van Statten.

Nodding, Van Statten moved towards the computer. "It was designed to be a bunker in the even of nuclear war. Steel bulkheads –"

"There's not enough power!" Goddard interrupted, throat constricting. "Those bulkheads are massive."

The Doctor scoffed, sick of poor answers and poor solutions. "We've got emergency power, we can reroute that to the bulkhead door."

"We'd have to bypass the security codes! That would take a computer genius."

"Good thing you've got me, then," Van Statten grinned.

"You wanna help?" The Doctor clarified, brow arched. He didn't think Van Statten was the type.

"I don't want to die, Doctor, simple as that." And it was true, he didn't. He had a life to live, a legacy to protect. He wasn't just going to throw away everything he had worked for. "Nobody knows this software better than me."

As they were discussing their options, the Dalek had finally begun to move. It shifted along the floor, turning toward the camera.

"Sir?" Goddard interjected, gaining the attention of the two men. All three looked at the monitor uneasily.

"I. Shall. Speak. Only. To. The. Doctor." The Dalek spoke, it's metallic voice somehow making the air feel colder.

The Doctor straightened, moving towards the screen. "You're gonna get rusty," he commented, eyes flicking to the water still raining down on the creature.

"I. Fed. Off. The. DNA. Of. Rose. Tyler." It continued, blue light flashing with its words. "Extrapolating. The. Biomass. Of. A. Time-Traveler. Regenerated. Me."

Blinking, the Doctor frowned. Something about how the Dalek said that didn't sit right with him. Not about Rose, he knew she was fine if a bit scared at the moment. He couldn't quite place it, but something was off. "What's your next trick?"

"I. Have. Been. Searching. For. The. Daleks."

"Yeah, I saw," the Doctor said flippantly, a grin spreading his lips. "Downloading the internet. What did you find?"

"I. Scanned. Your. Satellites. And. Radio. Telescopes."

"And?" But, of course, the Doctor already knew the answer. There would be nothing, just as there has been nothing – for years now.

Inevitably – "Nothing." The Dalek spoke, a strange sense of disappointment settling in the ruptures of its voice. "Where. Shall. I. Get. My. Orders. Now?"

"You're just a soldier without commands," the Doctor commented, eyes trailing as he thought of another soldier who had struggled for so long to become her own person. He wished he knew, but their…situation was still so new, and he couldn't push with his questions. He wanted to though, to know the details of his little enigma.

The creature watched him, far more capable of comprehension than it was often credited. The Dalek swiveled, as if curious. "You. Know. Another. Who. Is. The. Same."

"She's nothing like you!" The Doctor shouted, fingers curling into fists at his sides.

"Possibly." The Dalek conceded, which was odd in itself. It didn't seem to believe him though, whatever that meant. The Doctor's teeth ground together. "I. Shall. Follow. The. Primary. Order! The. Dalek. Instinct. To. Destroy! To. Conquer!"

"What for? What's the point?" The Doctor huffed, an unnatural snarl flaring his nose and hardening his jaw. The Dalek remained quiet, without an answer. "Don't you see? It's all gone! Everything you were, everything you stood for."

The Dalek paused, a strange hollowness entering its voice. "Then. What. Should. I. Do?"

This was an opportunity, the Doctor thought, an opportunity to end them all. If he just used the right words. "Alright then. If you want orders, follow this one," he paused, anticipation floating in his chest. "Kill yourself."

But they were the wrong words. "The Daleks. Must. Survive!" It screeched.

"The Daleks have failed!" The Doctor retorted, teeth bared. "Why don't you finish the job and makes the Daleks extinct? Rid the Universe of your filth!" The wrong words, they were so very wrong. But he believed them, felt them spread from that black spot of anger in his hearts. He may have been appalled, listening to himself, but he was too far gone. Rose would be disappointed. And Archie…nothing felt right in this situation. "Why don't you just die?!" Spit flew from his lips as he yelled, his rage unfurling in his chest, but it wasn't warm. He felt cold, frozen even, as he stared at the Dalek.

"You. Would. Make. A. Good. Dalek." And how damning was that? For the last of a destructive, genocidal race to name him as one of their own. Ice coated his veins.

The monitor shut off, the screen black. The Doctor licked his lips, regaining whatever composure he had left. "Seal the vaults." It was an order.

After an awkward pause, and a look exchanged between Van Statten and Goddard, the former redirected his attention back to the computer. "I can leech power off the ground defense, feed it to the bulkheads." He spoke, fingers flying over the keys. "It's been years since I had to work this fast."

"Are you enjoying this?" The Doctor raised a brow, sending a disarming look at Van Statten.

"Doctor," Goddard started hands folded across her chest. "They're still down there. Rose and the Archiver."

*O*O*

There were red footprints on the stairs. Only from one foot, long and thin and every once in awhile there was a streak in the pattern that implied slipping. Rose ran for her life, and as she crested each stairwell, she counted the red footprints. They belonged to Archie, she knew, and she tried very hard to avoid stepping on them.

Adam wasn't so careful, but the blood was dry so he wasn't leaving tracks of red. The whole thing made Rose feel nauseous. She kept running, though, running for her life. It was a regular thing now, for her and the wonderful aliens she kept for company.

Her mobile was ringing, nestled in her back pocket next to the tan glove. "This isn't the best time," Rose managed when she answered through puffs of air as they continued to charge up the stairs. Her lungs stuttered in her ribcage. She can't even imagine what Archie must be feeling, but the Time Lady was just behind her all the same.

"Where are you?" The Doctor's voice immediately brought her comfort, in the same way Archie always could.

"Level 49."

"You've got to keep moving. The vault is being sealed off up at level 46," he said, and there went that comfort. Dread weighed her shoulders. Her fingers itched to intertwine with Archie's, but she didn't want to risk their pace. Didn't want to risk Archie flinching from her again.

"Can't you stop them closing?" Rose asked, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the Archiver was still keeping up. She was, but she wasn't looking good. The way her hair slicked against her skin from sweat, cheeks red as she tried to breathe. She still favored her left leg, the bloody one, and her ribs seemed out of place. She gave Rose a reassuring smile anyway, just a quick turn of the lips. It didn't make Rose feel any better. "Doctor," she whispered, hoping the Time Lady couldn't hear her. Her throat trembled as she spoke. "Doctor, I'm worried about her."

She could practically hear his frown, could feel his fear and concern through the speaker. "I'm the one closing them," his voice dripped with regret, but Rose understood. She did, and she pumped her legs faster. "I can't wait, and I can't help you. Either of you. Now for God's sake, run!" There was a crack in his voice towards the end, terror bleeding into his words. "I'm sorry," he finally said after a dreadful pause.

Her legs burned as she ran, and while it wasn't a new feeling since travelling with the Doctor, the desperation was more intense. She felt like she might die in the next few minutes if she didn't make it, and that was a scary thought to have. That it could end so quickly, all of it. Sucking in the air she needed, Rose managed to force herself to run faster, and she was right behind Adam.

They rounded a corner, and there it was. The bulkhead was just starting to lower, looking entirely too heavy and solid as it inched down. But they might make it, they were so close. It'd be over then, they'd be safe if they crossed.

Adam got there first, sliding on his knees as he rolled beneath the lowering concrete. Rose dropped to a crouch, ready to crawl her way through when she peeked over her shoulder. Her lungs hollowed when she saw the Archiver so far away. She hadn't noticed, why hadn't she noticed?

The Archiver had stopped several paces back, leaning quite heavily against one of the walls. Her chest heaved as she tried to breathe, and she'd slid down the wall a bit with one knee bent and pushing against the brick to keep her balance. She was twitching, staring down at her arms and legs like they've betrayed her.

Rose swallowed when she saw the way Archie's limbs shifted, stuttering through the air, and didn't quite know what to say. Because Archie didn't know, she didn't know any of it. And she was obviously trying to resist, which – from what The Archiver had told her when she'd once asked her to stay – could be dangerous. Very dangerous.

Before Rose could do anything, she felt fingers wrap around her arm and yank her across the threshold. "No, Archie no!" She screamed, but it didn't make a difference. And then Archie was gone, hidden behind a thick wall of concrete and metal – alone with the Dalek. She'd killed her, Rose realized. They all did.

They had just killed the Archiver.

"Rose." But that didn't make sense, did it? Because she knew future versions of Archie. And the blonde one she met not long ago was in this Archie's future, right? And the kind woman with the edgy black pixie cut. And the spunky ginger Rose had so much fun with. So, Archie had to be okay.

"Rose." The Doctor said time was always in flux, though. Which meant nothing was certain, none of it.

"Rose!" Would she lose her memories of the Archiver? Of all of her future selves? But…she'd only had one adventure with the brunette, Archie's first self to travel with them. Would she really lose all the others?

"ROSE!" The Doctor's voice through the speaker of her phone finally registered, drawing her out of her shock. She must have said something to let him know she was listening, she wasn't sure, but he continued like he knew she had heard him. "Rose, where are you? Did you make it? Did you both make it?"

She could feel the tears welling in her eyes, the way her throat burned as she choked back a sob. "I made it, Doctor," she said, hearing his sigh of relief on the line. "But, Doctor…" pausing, Rose didn't really know what to tell him. This would destroy him. "Doctor, it's the Archiver."

"What?" His voice was so soft, like a lost child, and Rose's heart ached for him. For both of them.

"I'm sorry, I didn't – I hadn't noticed, I just…" she sniffed. "She was right behind me, I swear she was."

"Rose, what happened?"

She didn't want to say it though because that made it real. It made her failure real. "She'd stopped behind us, she was in pain. And, Doctor, she was phasing. Not like I've seen before though, only parts of her. Her arms, and I think one of her legs. She was resisting it, fighting it. I could tell. And it was hurting her, Doctor. But, then I was through already and I couldn't…I couldn't help." Tears trailed down her cheeks. Adam shuffled awkwardly behind her. She wanted to be mad at him, but he had probably just saved her life, even if it damned her friend.

The Doctor was quiet for a long time, and so was Rose, save a few sniffles. Because they both knew that, by now, the Dalek would have rounded the corner, seen the Archiver – a long time enemy of its race – and would have ended it. Just like that, gone.

"I killed her," he eventually muttered, voice devastated and dry.

"It wasn't your fault, Doctor," Rose managed. "She would tell you that, to the both of us, you know that."

"I was supposed to protect her," he continued, and Rose knew he wasn't listening to her. "She was only here because of me, of my timeline. But she'd never been that early before. How could I have…I could have killed that Dalek in its cell, I should have. I didn't and now she's just…gone." He paused for a while, and Rose almost thought he might have hung up if she couldn't still hear his ragged breaths. "Get to Van Statten's office, we'll figure out what to do next." The line went dead.

After another moment of staring at the wall, that damning wall, Rose willed her body forward to follow Adam to Van Statten's office. She was dazed, looking down at her shaking hands. She didn't want to count just now. Rose wanted to feel it all, to wallow in her sadness, regret, and guilt. That kind of wallowing, where it spread through her chest and made her feel cold, needed more than five seconds.

She'd never been good at turning it all off, not like Archie had been.

When they finally got to the office, the Doctor was yelling at Van Statten, and Rose just felt so tired.

"And was it worth it?!" The Doctor shouted, a crazed look in his ye. "Worth all those men's deaths? Worth the Archiver? Let me tell you something, Van Statten. Mankind goes into space to explore. To be part of something greater –"

"Exactly! I wanted to touch the stars!" Van Statten implored, standing up, but there was little bite to his words.

"You just want to drag the stars down and stick them underground, underneath tons of sand and dirt and label them. You're about as far from the stars as you can get!"

"Doctor!" Rose called, shoulders hunched. His head whipped towards her, neck cracking from the movement, and he swiftly walked over to wrap his arms around her. She rested her face on his shoulder, fresh tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Doctor, I'm so sorry."

"I know, I know. It wasn't your fault," he repeated the words she had said to him. But he knew she didn't believe them because he didn't believe them for himself either. So, he just kissed the crown of her head and held her tight.

Behind them, the monitor crackled to life.

"Open. The. Bulkhead. Or. The. Archiver. Dies." And the Doctor had never been more grateful to hear that static voice. She was okay, obviously in pain as she balanced unsteadily on one foot and swayed, but she was alive.

Rose gasped, a smile stretching her lips and tears in her eyes. "You're alive! Doctor, she's alive!"

On the screen, the Archiver sighed, tilting her head and smirking behind a few stray hairs. "Can't get rid of me that easy, love. Maybe you don't know me that well at all," she quipped, tapping the side of her nose twice.

"I thought you were dead," the Doctor breathed, disbelief washing over his features. He was elated – of course he was, his Archiver was alive – but she shouldn't be, trapped as she was with a Dalek of all creatures.

"Open. The. Bulkhead!" The Dalek ordered, whisk-like laser pushed threateningly against her side.

"Doctor." It was all she said, all she needed to say as her mind brushed reassuringly against his for the first time that night. Just a small sweep of her consciousness along the edge of his own, and it warmed his chest from that scathing cold it had been before. She trusted him, if only a little. But she trusted him to make this decision.

The Dalek paused, choosing its words carefully. "What. Use. Are. Emotions. If. You. Will. Not. Save. The. Woman. You. Love." And the way Archie's brows furrowed, smirk dropping as she looked sidelong at the Dalek beside her, cut away any doubt the Doctor may have had. She truly didn't know him or the things they'd been through. None of it.

But, she should, he insisted in his mind. And she will, he just had to figure out his little enigma a bit more. Screw spoilers, he'd save his Archiver at any cost.

"I killed her once," the Doctor muttered, moving towards the computer. "I'm not doing it again." He pressed the button the raise the bulkhead. She trusted him, he wouldn't waste it.

*O*O*

Her skin fizzled like it was being scalded by boiling water, but without the actual burns. Rose and Adam were just ahead, already approaching the lowering bulkhead. They were much faster than she was, but it made sense, Archie supposed. She was, indeed, quite injured; and running up several flights of stairs was a challenge regardless of health.

Of course, she could do without her leg suddenly flashing in and out of focus. Archie managed to catch herself on the closest wall when she only had one leg to stand on. She jutted her knee into a space between the cinderblocks to stabilize herself, shoulder pressed tightly against the wall. Looking down at her hands, Archie noticed how they flickered like her leg, like they had earlier a few floors down.

Archie knew she wouldn't make it before the bulkhead lowered – she probably wouldn't have anyway, even with both of her legs – but Rose would. And she was glad for it. Maybe this was for the best, she'd get a moment to speak to the Dalek. Or, it might just end her quickly. She'd prepare for both.

That distinct whirring sound so unmistakably Dalek grew louder until Archie could feel the burn of its blue gaze on her back. The whirring stopped, but the space just between her shoulder blades didn't stop burning.

"This feels familiar to me, Dalek," she hummed, managing to turn enough so her back rested against the wall and she could turn her head to face the creature. "Is it familiar to you?"

"Why. Should. It. Be. Familiar?" It asked, but it only confirmed what she already knew was probably true. This wasn't her Dalek, and she wasn't quite sure how to feel about that.

Nodding, Archie heaved a weary sigh. "I guess not then. How are you feeling, Dalek?" As she spoke, she focused on solidifying her limbs. Eventually, she felt the pressure of the concrete floor, cold on the sole of her foot. Her arms stopped shifting, but her hands twitched enough that her fingers rippled through the air. Momentary progress, it was all she needed.

Without a second thought, Archie wiped the drip of blood trailing from her right nostril and looked back towards the Dalek as it spoke. "I. Am. Armed! I. Will. Kill! It. Is. My. Purpose!" Which, while true, did not account for the Dalek having not killed her yet.

"You've already killed so many, all innocent. And yet, you hesitate at me. Hardly innocent myself." She paused, gaze sweeping along the surface of the Dalek. It was immaculate, as if it had never been touched. She would bet that didn't hold true an hour ago. "Take the shot, it is your purpose, after all."

"They. Are. Dead. Because. Of. Us!"

"Us? Surely you don't mean me," Archie coughed, her throat feeling strangely wet. "Unless you meant…Rose Tyler, perhaps? She woke you up, didn't she?"

A long pause as it seemed to scan her and then, "You. Are. Afraid." It said, rather matter-of-factly. She tried not to be insulted. "But. Not. Of. Me."

"No," she agreed. "Not of you. But afraid of so many things."

The Dalek shifted, appendages twisting and lights flashing. "You. Were. Imprisoned. Like. Me."

Different circumstances, but the basics of their predicaments were there. "Yes."

"They. Hurt. You."

"I suppose."

"Daleks. Do. Not. Fear! They. Do. Not. Hurt!" It screeched, dome swiveling. "Must. Not. Fear!" It started shooting, but the beams were hardly aimed. Archie didn't move.

She felt sad for the creature as it writhed under the weight of its new emotions. Both wonderful and so utterly painful. "I'm sorry that Rose changed you. It must hurt."

"Rose. Tyler. Gave. Me. Life!" It announced, a tone of anger coating its metallic voice. "What. Else. Has. She. Given. Me? I. Am. Contaminated!"

And a contaminated Dalek should be a dead Dalek. "Anything different, is wrong in the eye of your species. It must die," She said, standing up as straight as she could and moving towards the creature. "There's a way out, you just have to convince the Doctor. Shouldn't be too hard, he's rather emotional. He may just be glad enough to see me alive."

It worked, of course, because the Doctor truly was an emotional being. Not that she wasn't, Archie was just more in control than the Doctor seemed to be. It didn't matter that Archie had no clue who he was. There was history between them, on his side. And, apparently, on hers as well if she really was missing the memories of an entire regeneration. And the history seemed…good, if maybe a bit complicated.

She had allowed her mind to peek through her defenses to trail along his, rather open, consciousness. Archie wanted him to know she was trying.

There was something comical about standing in an elevator with the Dalek. Well, not standing per say as she leaned rather heavily against the wall. But comical all the same.

"You're not going to kill them," Archie stated a tad bluntly. "You didn't kill me, even when you had every reason, every opportunity to do it."

"But. Why. Not?" Its eye swiveled quickly, focusing intently on the Archiver's slouching form. "Why. Are. You. Alive? My. Function. Is. To. Kill! What. Am. I? What. Am. I?"

"Something new," Archie mumbled just as they reached level one. The doors slid open to reveal Van Statten in his office, that woman – Goddard – just behind. "Nobody move, just let us through. Don't give it a reason to hurt you, and it won't" She limped beside the Dalek as they made their way through. She didn't see Adam or Rose, or the Doctor for that matter.

"Van. Statten." The Dalek started, a vengeful lilt to its words. "You. Tortured. Us. Why?"

Looking between the Dalek and the Archiver, Van Statten swallowed nervously. "I wanted to help you, I just…I don't know. I was trying to help." His voice was unusually high and frightened. It didn't make Archie feel pleased like she thought it might, but she'd never been the type for grudges. "I thought if we could get through to you, either of you, if we could mend you, study you…I wanted you both better. I'm sorry." He backed up as the Dalek continued forward. "I'm so sorry. I swear, I just wanted you to talk! I wanted to understand you both!"

"Then. Hear. Me. Talk. Now." It hummed, cornering Van Statten. "Exterminate! Exterminate!"

Slim fingers wrapped around the metal of the Dalek's laser, quickly drawing the creature's gaze. "There's more to you now than just killing. You don't have to do this. What do you want, Dalek?"

It hesitated, blue eye turning between Van Statten and the Archiver. "You. Do. Not. Wish. This. Human. Dead? After. What. He. Did. To. You?"

She shook her head, grip firm. "No, I don't want anyone dead, if I can help it. But, what is it that you want?"

"I. Want…Freedom."

Allowing a barely there smile to quirk the corners of her lips, Archie nodded, understanding what it meant. She lead the Dalek down the halls, knowing where the closest point to the surface was located. She ignored the way her muscles spasmed and resisted the urge to say she wanted freedom too.

Archie winced as rubble rained down from the hole the Dalek blasted into the ceiling, the sight much too familiar. "There you are, a way to freedom." The words felt like sand on her tongue, or perhaps that had to do with the strange numbness spreading from her throat to her teeth. She squinted at the new lighting. "The sun, huh, never thought I'd see it again. Didn't think I'd be lucky enough."

"How. Does. It. Feel?" The Dalek asked pitifully, and she watched rather distantly as the Dalek's suit clicked and whirred, opening up to reveal the squid-like being inside. With one eye and so pale she could see the stretch of its veins along its tentacles. A large brain sat vulnerably in the shell. Its fragile body, covered in a slimy substance, expanded with each breath, with every beat of its heart.

One tentacle raised tentatively up, quivering as it felt the harsh rays of sunlight for the first time. Archie felt a tear slip down her cheek.

"Get out of the way!" The Doctor yelled from behind Archie, causing her to turn ever so slowly. If she turned to fast, she feared she'd fall altogether. And wouldn't that just be dramatic and unnecessary?

"Oh, Doctor," Archie sighed at the sight of the large gun.

"Archiver, get out of the way, now!" The Doctor repeated. Rose was next to him, gaze flicking anxiously between the Doctor and Archie. This was wrong, all wrong.

Shaking her head, Archie crossed her arms over her chest to feel just a bit more stable. "No, I won't do that Doctor."

Gaze hardening, the Doctor adjusted the hold he had on the gun. "That thing," he spat, "killed hundreds of people. Archie you know, better than anyone, what a Dalek is capable of. What they did to us."

"Yeah, I do," she agreed, eyes holding his steadfastly. Archie looked…old, and very tired in that moment. "But, I also know what we did to them. What we did to so many. I know so much that you don't about our people, Doctor. And, standing between one of my own and one of my enemies, I'm hardly surprised by who's pointing the gun at me now."

"I've got to end it, Archiver," The Doctor insisted, tears glittering in his eyes. "The Daleks destroyed my home, my people. I've got nothing left!" That single brush of the Archiver's mind that the Doctor had felt, had cherished since it'd been there, disappeared. His hearts clenched painfully in his chest. She looked so…disappointed, and maybe a bit angry with her clenched jaw and trembling hands. He wasn't sure who she was angry at though because it didn't feel directed at him. Maybe herself, for choosing to trust him.

The Archiver stepped aside, revealing the vulnerable form of the Dalek. Drenched in light and so very fragile. Rose took a few steps forward, curious by the sight. It was horribly beautiful, and sad. "Doctor, it didn't kill Archie. It didn't kill Van Statten. Maybe it's, I don't know, evolving or something."

"If you'd take the time to listen, Doctor, you'd understand what was happening," the Archiver huffed, struggling on her feet. Rose moved to steady her, but Archie held up a shaking hand to stop her. "This Dalek – all it wants is to feel the sunlight. To be free in the simplest sense of the word. It's changed with Rose's touch, it's different. What are you becoming, Doctor? Is it who you want to be?"

The Doctor lowered the gun, a heavy weight upon his shoulders. "I couldn't…I wasn't…Oh Rose, Archiver, they're all dead."

"Why. Do. We. Survive?" The Dalek asked, trembling in the sunlight.

"I wish I had an answer," Archie muttered, looking back at the shelled creature. "I really do."

"I. Am. The. Last. Of. The. Daleks."

Frowning, the Doctor could only blink at the sight of the Dalek. "You're not even that. Rose did more than regenerate you. You've absorbed her DNA. You're mutating."

"Into. What?"

With a sad sigh, Archie took a measly step back because she knew what came next. "Something new. Something different. I'm so sorry." The words hovered in the air.

Confused, Rose looked between them all. "Isn't that better?"

"Not for a Dalek," the Doctor finally said.

"To a Dalek, anything different is wrong. And anything wrong, should die," Archie added, lacing her fingers behind her neck as she tried to stay upright. She pinched her skin to remain focused, or as focused as she could be what with the black edges of her eyesight. Something was very wrong with her, but she wasn't the priority. Not right now, anyway. Just another minute or so.

"I. Can. Feel. So. Many. Ideas." The Dalek whimpered, small body shaking. "So. Much. Darkness…Rose. Give. Me. Orders! Order me to die."

"I-I can't do that," Rose said, throat thick with holding back her tears. She didn't want to.

The Archiver closed her eyes, knowing what this meant for Rose and so very sorry she had to be the one to do it. She was just a child, and they brought her into their war. Nothing was okay.

"This. Is. Not. Life." The Dalek groaned as if in actual pain. And it likely was from the contradiction of its own existence. "This. Is. Sickness…I. Shall. Not. Be. Like. You! Order. My. Destruction! Obey! Obey! Obey!"

It hurt, it hurt so much to say it, but she knew she had too. "Do it," she choked, and her eyes stung.

"Archiver." The Dalek started, eye shifting to the prone blonde to its left. "I. Heard. Your. Screams. Just. As. You. Heard. Mine…Are. You. Still. Frightened?"

"Of course," she grinned, tapping the side of her nose twice. "But it reminds me I'm alive in more ways than just breadth. I am afraid, Dalek."

"So. Am. I." It said, knowing this was the end. But it was warm still from the sunlight. "Exterminate."

It really was beautiful to watch as the Dalek rose into the air, encased once again in its shell, to surround itself with the golden orbs embedded in the suit. The light was bright and blue, collapsing like a dying star onto the Dalek's form, and then it was gone. Quick and utterly painful.

The Archiver would have basked in the silence if she could have, knowing the danger was finished, but it wasn't. Not for her anyway. Not when her legs gave out, sending her crashing to the concrete floor with newly scraped knees and flickering ankles. She cursed, quite colorfully, as she felt her ribs stutter beneath her skin.

Rose was swiftly by her side, one hand hesitantly resting on her aching shoulder. Archie didn't have the energy to shrug her off, and she wasn't sure she would if she did. "Archie, breathe, it's okay." But it wasn't, how could it be? Parts of her body were trying to leave without the rest of her. And she didn't know where or when they were trying to go.

And then the Doctor was there, on his knees in front of her. Hands on her cheeks as he looked into her eyes. Comforting even when he shouldn't be, when she felt she couldn't trust him. But she wanted to, to try at the very least. "You can't fight it, Archiver. I know it hurts, but it will only get worse if you resist the pull."

She tasted blood, and there was an odd tickling sensation coming from her nose and the inner corners of her eyes. The Doctor looked so distraught as he stared at her. "But I'm scared and it hurts so bad," she said, sounding like a child and – honestly? – feeling like one too.

Rose was practically sobbing to her right, and she wanted to comfort the young girl. She did, but there was nothing left in her to do so. She felt that tugging sensation between her shoulder blades and that warm caress of fingers on her cheek. The Doctor may have said something else, but she couldn't hear him. The last thing she registered before closing her eyes and allowing the pain to engulf her was the Doctor, so very sad. So very lonely.

When she was gone, phasing away in that flickering fashion they've come to know, headed to her next destination somewhere in the Doctor's future – because he knew she wasn't yet who she will be when he first met this blonde version of her – The Doctor wrapped his arms around the crying Rose and tried to forget the blood leaking from his Archiver's eyes and nose.

He didn't think he ever would, not really.


	4. Warmth Found in Terror

**A/N: Hey everyone! Yay, chapter four is finally here! I'm sorry that took so long, I had a lot of trouble writing this one for some reason and the last few weeks have been pretty hectic. I'll try and upload again as soon as I can, just be patient. It's absolutely insane how many people have read and followed this story, even though it's still in such early stages. Thank you too all of my readers, I hope you're enjoying it so far.**

**Special thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter: bored411, savethemadscientist, and Catlorde**

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It hurt just as much to be put back together as it did to be taken apart. The realization was startling to the Archiver, who'd been hoping it might have been more relieving than painful, as her cells knit back together and shuffled along the plains of her body, a body she was still getting used to. Hopefully everything ended up in the right place. She hadn't had much time to experience the intricacies of her new body beyond the experiments in Van Statten's museum. She hadn't even had a proper look in a mirror just yet.

Not that the color of her eyes or the shape of her nose was particularly concerning when her senses were suddenly assaulted by stimuli. One thing she'd noticed when she was – flickering? phasing? – was the way her senses dimmed leading up to the event. It had been a slow process, perhaps a warning of some kind, but reforming did not have the same effect of calmly reintroducing her senses. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Orange light, probably meant to be soothing and warm, burned along the edges of her vision even with her eyes clamped shut. The smell of metal, namely the familiar aroma of electrical wiring, stung her nostrils and traveled to the base of her throat. Iron sat heavily on her tongue. Her eyes itched, her skin itched, everything itched because her body didn't belong here. It wasn't supposed to do the things it did, shifting from one reality to another without a vessel. It wasn't possible.

But, then again, the Archiver had a habit of challenging impossible things. Always had, call it a quirk.

She wasn't breathing either, thinking her lungs had been misplaced in transit along the way. Well, that wasn't entirely true, she was breathing, quite heavily in fact. But it was too quick, only inhaling and never quite managing an exhale – which didn't particularly feel like breathing. It was too painful as it rattled her chest in the wrong way. Though, if a chest rattled at all, something was probably wrong.

Still kneeling on the ground with one knee pulled close to her sternum, in the same position she'd phased from, the Archiver flexed her fingers where they steadied her body against the glass surface beneath her. It was smooth and hummed softly with familiar gentle vibrations. The living ship breathed against her palms. Small pulses of energy warming her, starting from the pressures of her fingertips on the smooth glass.

A Tardis, the Doctor's most likely. The one she'd sensed what seemed like so long ago, chained up and slumped against a metal slab stained with her blood. It must have been his, because hers was…gone. And the others were killed before the end of the war.

The Archiver could feel it now, the way the Tardis hesitantly brushed against her consciousness. Like the old girl wanted to comfort her, welcoming her into the ship. But the sentiment scraped against her barriers, echoing like a tortured scream rather than the kind humming it was meant to be. Recoiling, the Archiver banged her head against the metal railing behind her and barely managed to catch herself on the poles with a white-knuckled grip. The mental brush of the Tardis disappeared immediately and a chill wracked her joints at the sudden loss.

Guilt settled in Archie's chest at pushing away the ship – she had only meant kindness – but her head was splitting. The sharp pain started just between her eyes and trailed like a razor blade along the nerves of her scalp, pulsing at the base of her skull to the beat of her hearts. And she wanted to cry. She wanted to feel for more than five seconds, but there wasn't time – there was never time.

Just then, a seemingly misplaced wooden door creaked open behind her. The sound echoed in the otherwise glass and metal room, harsh and grating on the Archiver's oversensitive ears. She slipped her palms over her ears to block the sound, fingers tangling in her already matted hair, swallowing her vulnerability.

The muffled stomping of several pairs of feet approached her huddled form, and she tensed as if waiting for an attack. Because, really, that would be just her luck.

Warmth bloomed on her cheeks from the encompassing pressure of palms and long fingers not her own. Instead of being afraid at the invasion, the Archiver felt comfort spread from the beats of her hearts. She knew these hands, though she didn't know how or why, but they brought a sense of safety. She knew she would be protected by these hands.

"Archiver." The articulation of her name slipped between the spacing of her fingers. One of her hands was taken from its perch over her ears and placed against a quivering chest. "Archiver, you need to slow your breathing. You're hyperventilating. C'mon, match your breaths to mine, we don't need you passing out on us."

It was harder than it should have been, slowing down her breathing, but she listened to the voice. She curled her grip into the soft fabric of their shirt and felt the rise and fall of their chest. Eventually, after what felt like hours of taking in too much air and not letting out enough, Archie felt her lungs even out and it didn't burn to breathe anymore.

"That's it, that's it," the voice encouraged, tapping the back of her palm in comfort. And then they started humming a familiar lullaby, one that Archie often hummed to herself.

Opening her eyes, confusion laced through the pale color of her irises – he knew her song – the Archiver met the gaze of someone she recognized, and yet didn't recognize at all. "Rory, you're Rory Williams." But, really, it was more of a question than anything else. She didn't know where that name came from. "I don't know you, I don't – I don't think…why don't I? Am I supposed to know you?" His answering smile was so very concerned, tears shining in his eyes, and Archie felt guilt settle in her throat because he was kind and she'd disappointed him somehow.

Looking over the curve of his shoulder, because Archie knew they weren't exactly alone, she saw a young redheaded woman who seemed far too worried for her age and a rather formally, but oddly, dressed man with eyes much too old for his body. The redhead looked utterly horrified, with one hand covering her mouth and the other trembling outstretched in front of her, as if she wanted to help but didn't know how.

The Archiver just stared at them, lost and confused beyond belief.

"Archie," the redheaded woman started, stepping forward to kneel next to Rory. "Archiver, I'm Amy – Amelia. You know me, you – you must know me. Since I was a little girl, you've known me. You have to! You…you're my Dapper Archiver." Tears trailed down her freckled cheeks, shaking off the kind hand Rory had put on her shoulder to calm her down. But she wasn't calm, she couldn't be.

Archie shook her head, vision swimming from the action. "I – I'm sorry, I…" Her body felt so weak, boneless and tired in a way she hadn't felt in a long time. She couldn't remember the last time she'd properly slept. Unable to hold herself up any longer, Archie let herself wilt, falling forward into safe arms.

Rory lowered her to the ground with such care it made Amy's heart ache. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, eyes focused on the lax bloody expression of her much-too-still companion.

Stabilizing Archie's neck with one hand, Rory positioned his fingers over her pulse point and waited with baited breath. Four beats thrummed under the pads of his fingertips, and Rory sighed, tense shoulders loosening and head dipping in relief. Even if the beats were a tad faster than he would have liked. "She's alright, just unconscious," he murmured, using both hands now to maneuver her head onto his lap, gaze flicking over her injuries. "She's absolutely covered in blood, why is there always blood?"

The rhetorical question weighed heavily in the air.

"Doctor, she doesn't remember me – us. Why doesn't she…? We just saw her…we just saw brunette Archie, minutes ago, with – with the Gunslinger and…and she was fine! Terrifying and complicated as always, but fine." Amy turned to the Doctor, who'd been quiet throughout the entire exchange. He hadn't run to the Archiver, asked her where she'd come from, or even if she was all right. The Doctor should have been hovering like the worrywart he was, but instead he just stood off to the side as Rory helped Archie realign her breathing. Cheeks puffed in anger, Amy turned to her raggedy alien and crossed her arms. "Well, Doctor?!" Anger was so much easier than fear, than sadness. Her eyes stung regardless.

And the Doctor, well, he was as terrified as any of them. With a white-knuckled grip on the Tardis console, the Doctor's gaze locked onto the Archiver. His jaw ticked as he ground his teeth, and there was an overwhelming sheen of guilt in the lines of his face that shouldn't be there. "Amy, it's…complicated."

"No, no not this time," Amy huffed, glare settled over her features. "You don't get to just say it's complicated! Archie doesn't know who I am! She knew Rory, for a moment, she knew him…or – or at least his name. Why doesn't she know me?!" Her voice cracked, thick with sorrow and loss.

"Amy –" The Doctor took a step forward, hand outstretched to comfort his friend, to help her understand without giving too much away, but she stepped back from him. Hurt flashed across his features, but he covered best he could. He deserved it, after all.

She rapidly shook her head, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. "Doctor, you can't do that," Amy implored, voice thick. "You can't just brush this away. Not after everything, not with blonde Archie, or – or any of them. Not after last time. You just – you can't."

They were at a standstill. The Doctor, gaze flicking between the errant redhead before him and the unconscious blonde cradled in the arms of the ever-faithful Rory Williams. He remembered this, all too well, and sometimes he wished he could forget. The red droplets trailing from her eyes and nose. The bandages and scars and a gaze that didn't know him even though it should.

Of course, the Doctor knew the truth now…not that he could change it. Not really, even if he wanted to. But if he could change one thing, save her in one instance – well – it wouldn't be this one. There were worse things to come, and some truly beautiful things as well. He couldn't take those from her. And, selfishly, he didn't want to lose them either.

But he knew how this arc ended, and so did Amy and Rory – not that they were aware of it. Time was both so completely complicated and so laughably simple. His people had spent centuries trying to understand it all, and the Archiver had gotten the closest of them all. It just hadn't been her choice to do so.

The Doctor had wondered, for years he'd wondered when he'd see her again, just after the Dalek and Rose and the experiments. With that knotted pale blonde hair and stale blue eyes, sallow cheeks and a whimsical wit.

Even so, she was beautiful. But, then again, he'd always thought so. From the very beginning.

"Doctor, we need to get her to the infirmary." Rory's voice brought him from his thoughts, laced with concern and apprehension. "I don't think she's in any life-threatening danger, but still, she needs treatment. Especially for her leg." All eyes immediately latched onto the crimson soaked cloth wrapped tightly around a wound on her left calf.

The Doctor had thought quite a bit about that wound as well. The way it bled through the bandage in a strange pattern. Archie had limped that day, so very long ago, but not the limp of someone with a broken ankle or strained muscles. It was a limp to minimize the flexing of her calf, toes pointed and knee bent awkwardly high to relieve as much tension as possible. Perhaps to refrain from opening stitches or a scab of some kind.

He remembered Rose telling him about the red footprints on the stairs and he knew the Archiver had given up any pretense of protecting the injury when lives were on the line.

"Right, right yeah," the Doctor mumbled, stepping forward only for Amy to intercept him. Arms crossed and stubborn scowl etched in her features. He blinked and swallowed nervously. Without breaking eye contact with his distraught companion, the Doctor pat the Tardis console with a tired – and almost guilty – smile. "Alright old girl, help Rory and Archie to the infirmary. Quickest route possible." He received a gentle hum in response, and a path lit up on the floor, disappearing down one of the corridors.

Rory looked between the two, feeling a disappointedly familiar sense of not belonging. Like he was the third wheel to a party consisting of his wife and a frustratingly wonderful alien. Or some kind of stowaway, an extra who wasn't supposed to be here in the first place. Only, this time Archie wasn't here to roll her eyes, bump his shoulder, and make him feel like he actually belonged. She was, well – attention redirected to the woman in his care – he wasn't quite sure what she was at the moment. Just that she didn't seem to know who they were, which was more alarming than Rory cared to admit. So, instead of arguing to stick around and defuse whatever was going on between Amy and the Doctor this time, Rory did as he was told.

Slipping one arm around Archie's waist, Rory was somehow able to maneuver the far-too-thin woman onto his back, with hands firm under her legs so she wouldn't fall or jostle too much as he walked. Rory tried not to notice the way she flinched at his touch because he really had no choice at this point but to carry her himself. He just hoped he wasn't hurting her more than she already was.

With one last exasperated glance at the stubborn duo, Rory huffed and followed the light the Tardis provided for him to the infirmary.

Silence settled in the console room once the echo of Rory's footsteps on the metal grating finally faded away. It was far too tense, with the occasional twitch of lips or flickering eyes. Amy wanted to be mad, she wanted to let the anger whither in her chest and fuel her arguments, but she just felt scared. Scared for one of her best friends who didn't remember her.

"Doctor, you are going to tell me what's going on, right now," Amy demanded, shining eyes trained on the Time Lord before her. "No lies, no diversions. This is Archie, and I want the truth from you for once." She tried not to feel bad at the way he grimaced at her words. They were true, even if they hurt.

The Doctor knew he had…a habit of sorts of withholding information for the sake of protecting his companions. Though, the Archiver could always somehow tell when he was hiding something. She didn't like when he did that. "Amy, I didn't – we didn't tell you for a reason. We knew you'd probably try to warn the younger Archiver, try to change what's going to happen, and what already has."

"She doesn't remember who I am, of course I'd want to change that!" Amy didn't sound as indignant as she would have liked, just desperate. Desperate to understand what had happened to her Archiver and how she could fix it.

"But you can't," the Doctor stated, grim curve to his brow. The face of a man who has wanted to do the same, has tried, and known the consequences for it. "You can't change it, messing with her timeline is dangerous. Think about it, Amy, we see her out of order. If we actively try to change certain aspects of her timeline, our memories change, her path changes. We don't know where that could send her, how that might shift who she is. Archie's existence is already a paradox, one that shouldn't be able to exist but does, one that treated incorrectly could have catastrophic ends. It's why we have Spoilers, why Archie is so careful about what she says and how she says it, why she documents everything, why no one is allowed in her studio…Amy, you know what she's capable of, how utterly complicated her mind is. The link between our two timelines is far more delicate than we let on, and for good reason!"

Shoulders slumping, Amy allowed her arms to hang at her sides. "You could have warned us, in some way you could have. Or – or something, Doctor, something to make this okay!" She sniffed, quickly wiping her cheeks before any tears could fall. "It hurts, Doctor. It hurts so much to look into her eyes and see no recognition at all when there should be. It made sense with brunette Archie, and she'd even giving us one of her Previews beforehand. Why not this time? What's really different here?"

The Doctor hesitated, mulling over his words carefully in a way that reminded him of the Archiver. In the end, all he managed was an unsatisfactory – "Spoilers." – and let himself wonder how the Time Lady managed her words so well. Because it wasn't spoilers, not for Amy anyway, but he couldn't risk…well, he just couldn't risk it.

Amy hated that word, she really did, but she couldn't argue with it. Well, she could, but it wouldn't help anything. Not really. And that hurt more. "Alright," she eventually said, closing her eyes and seeming so defeated the Doctor's eyes stung.

"But she'll remember, bits at a time," he was quick to reassure. "Think, Amy, think about some of this Archie's quirks. Every one of them is different, just as every one of me is different. Think on this one, for just a moment."

And Amy did, about their adventures. About how odd this Archie was at times, distant and quiet and sometimes a tad brash – though they all had their quirks. But there was one thing, one tiny thing that – now – made so much sense. Amy smiled, fondness seeping into her chest. "Archie's tidbit moments, at least that's what Rory and I have taken to calling them," she chuckled, hand reaching out to hold the Doctor's. "When we'd be in the middle of something, usually something dangerous, and she'd just burst out with a little fact about one of us, like she was remembering it for the first time and just wanted to make sure she was right. I just never knew…she really was remembering those things for the first time."

The Doctor nodded, giving Amy's hand a squeeze. "Sometimes…sometimes they weren't about us, Amy. Those are other memories, the things she said that didn't seem to make much sense. Memories coming back that are from earlier or later moments in my own timeline with brunette Archie. Most times, she says them without thinking because they're a fresh burst of knowledge that she can't really control."

Brows furrowing, Amy stared at their connected hands and frowned. "You-you're sure we can't change it?"

"No, Amy, we can't," the Doctor sighed, his age seeping into the curves of his forehead. "I'm sorry, for keeping it from you, but we had no choice. Not when we knew the risk."

"I'm not happy about it," Amy remarked, finger poking into the Doctor's chest threateningly. "but I understand…now at least."

The Tardis whirred beneath their feet, lights flashing and flickering along the trail leading towards the infirmary. The sentient ship, after allowing the two their little argument, was obviously trying to usher them along. Not so alarmed to flash mauve, so no one was in any danger, but definitely an attempt to get the duo to move on to their awaiting Time Lady.

Maybe she was even awake…and probably very confused. Sharing a hesitant glance, Amy and the Doctor quickly made their way down the corridor.

*O*O*

At this point, waking up disoriented in strange places was something Archie had learned to expect. She figured, with the few details she'd managed to pick up, her new existence of unwittingly shifting through time – apparently one timeline in particular, though she was unsure how to approach that topic – probably leant multiple opportunities for misplaced naps.

It was something to get used to, for sure, and a habit Archie wasn't likely to grow fond of. But she didn't seem to have much choice in the matter, and that…well that was something she was used to.

The jostling roused her this time, but even with the elbow unintentionally digging into her side and the weightlessness of her dangling arms, Archie felt safe when she woke up. Her chin bounced against the neck of her carrier with every step. The smell of aftershave and lavender fabric softener hit her nose, and she barely managed to hold back a huff of laughter.

"Lavender?" she croaked, adjusting the position of her head so she wasn't speaking directly into the column of his throat. She tried not to be dead weight on his back.

Rory jumped at the sound of her voice, soft but still oddly close to his ear, and the way she was no longer slack in his arms. His fingers flexed around the curve of her knees. "Yes, well," he stammered, pink highlighting his ears. "You and Amy tend to pick the soaps, I just do the laundry when I'm told. Besides, lavender's always been a rather…nice smell, don't you think?"

"Oh, depends on which me you're asking." Archie allowed a small grin to curve her lip, tutting when the chapped skin only seemed to split. "But sure, I could get behind lavender." After a few more moments – "Lavender is a message of devotion, did you know that?"

"Can't say that I did," Rory hummed as they walked, eyes trained on the glowing path in the grating. "Always thought it was odd and a bit silly, if I'm honest, giving meanings to flowers like that."

"I suppose," Archie agreed, "but odd things are always so much more interesting. And silly, well that's even better."

He couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled in his chest. It was such an Archie thing to say, and Rory tried not to fear the hope that settled in his throat and behind his eyes. He blinked a few times before speaking. "Well, if I didn't agree with that, I probably wouldn't be here at all."

Rory couldn't help but notice how Archie seemed much more lucid than before, when they'd stepped into the Tardis brushing sand from their clothes and wishing the small town of Mercy well – even if it had been a rather terrifying venture. Phasing always made her a little unbalanced and scrabbled, but he wondered what was truly different this time.

So, he asked.

"Just haven't had a proper sleep in a while, no need to worry love."

While he didn't doubt it, the blood on her calf told him there was more to it all than she was saying. Which was odd, since Archie wasn't one to hold back information if she could help it.

It was quiet after that as he walked them to the infirmary, but comfortable. Rory allowed that comfort to wrap around him like a blanket. He never really felt awkward with the Archiver, even at the very beginning when he was just getting to know her. She'd always felt so understanding and welcoming and just…kind. And he hoped, God he hoped with all of his heart, that whatever had happened to her this time, wouldn't take those things away.

Eventually they made it to the infirmary, and Archie noticed how the set up was just as quirky and wonderful as the rest of the Tardis. With more warm lighting – this time a bit pinkish, like coral – and distinctly visible mechanical features, even in a room that didn't rely on such things. A wall of screens and scanners looking too new and slightly misplaced in the space. Sleek in a way that didn't mirror the fluffy colorful pillows and piped metal walls. There were a couple of cots, all seemingly unused, and a metal cabinet towards the back next to a sink that probably housed the majority of the medical equipment. It was the perfect mix of a state of the art and homemade medical room.

Rory carefully maneuvered around so that Archie could slide off his back and onto one of the cots. She snickered at the blue and purple knit blanket mismatched with green sheets and fuzzy cream pillows. Odd for an infirmary, but as she'd said about odd things – so very interesting.

Hospitals had always been a source of contention for the Archiver. White walls and white floors and white beds, as if white was somehow more sterile than any other color. As if the pureness of white could somehow erase the impurities of the ill and the injured.

And while the pops of color and comfort didn't completely mask the smell of antiseptic or the glint of medical tools, Archie could admit that she felt safe in this space, even if she wasn't entirely sure why.

"So, who exactly are you, Rory Williams?" Archie asked, gaze shifting to the young man before her. Sandy blonde hair. A long sharp nose and thin face. A bit lanky. Kind, blue-green eyes with that recognizable spark of curiosity that all humans had, especially the ones who agreed to travel through space and time with a mad man.

Rory shrugged as he collected some materials from the metal cabinet, the door creaking as he closed it. "Oh, just a regular human nurse from Leadworth, England who happens to travel with his wife and a couple of time travelling aliens. Nothing special…may I?" He gestured to her face, a damp cloth in his hand.

Nodding after the briefest hesitation, Archie angled her head upwards so he had a better angle. "Oh, there's no such thing as not special. And you know my lullaby, Rory Williams. A name I know but a face I forget. Who are you meant to be to me?" The cloth was cool on her skin and really quite nice as Rory swept it along her cheeks and chin. She pretended not to notice how the cloth came away red.

"I'm not sure why you seem to know my name and nobody else," he shrugged, eyes intent on wiping the blood away from her pale skin. Too pale…when had she last seen the sun? "And, I can't pretend to know what you think about us, about me. But I can say, and don't tell the wife – she's the jealous type – you are perhaps my best friend. Have been, for years now I'd say. Same way that the Doctor and Amy…well, that one may be a bit more complicated. The feeling doesn't have to be mutual, but at least, that's who you are to me."

Archie wrapped her fingers around his wrist, halting his movements. Her eyes were shining. "You're a good man, Rory Williams. I'm sorry I don't remember you," she stopped, closing her eyes to take a breath before meeting his gaze. "I think I'd like to try again, if you'd let me. I hope I can live up to the way you see me."

Her lips quirked in an all too familiar mischievous way, and Rory grinned. Seeing his Archie was there still, just a bit more confused than before, relief swelled in his hands and along the curves of his smile.

Instead of responding to that, because he knew she'd more than live up to it, he went back to one of her other points. "As for the lullaby, well, it's more well-known than you might think." At her raised brow, Rory tilted his head. "The lyrics, do you know them?"

Thinking for a moment, Archie realized she didn't have any recollection of lyrics. Just the sound of a soft voice humming the lullaby and kind fingers tracing her cheeks. She shook her head, hearts fluttering beneath her skin.

"I've got no strings to hold me down – to make me fret – or make me frown." Archie's head whipped towards the voice, shaken quite suddenly from that strange distorted memory, her eyes following the skipping bow-tied man apprehensively as he sung the song. "I had strings but now I'm free – There are no strings on me. Course, slow it down a bit, hum the tune, rather beautiful if you do it right. And Pinocchio, of course! A Disney classic, you always told me, said Walt himself was a good friend of yours."

The Doctor watched for Archie's reactions, noting the subtle twitch of her brow and flaring of her nose, the way her shoulders stiffened imperceptibly – to anyone else, that is – and how she clasped her shaking fingers in her lap. The way Rory leant forward, whispering, "It's okay, it's okay, just breathe, you're safe, it's okay," when her chest seemed to ripple with hurried inhales.

Trying not to let his disappointment show, the Doctor smiled and curtsied. "Hello, I'm the Doctor," he quipped, tugging at the lapels of his coat. "You haven't met this me, well you have, but this you hasn't. I know I looked different last you saw me, but us Time Lords have a habit of changing as you well know."

There was something distinctly awkward about the way the Doctor held out a hand for Archie to shake, as he was obviously straining himself from getting closer. His smile was small and sad, twitching at the corners as if he wasn't sure if the smile was appropriate at all.

Moreso wanting to put the man out of his awkward misery than to actually introduce herself, Archie hesitantly grasped his hand. "The Archiver, but you already knew that," she hummed. Her fingers trembled, palm stuttering against his, and she held her breath as his larger hand encased her own. Waiting for the inevitable questions, the furrowing of brows, the confusion and worry.

But none of it came.

He simply smiled, a curve of the lips that exuded warmth, and squeezed her hand gently. Eyes soft and understanding as they met her own. Her breath hitched, and she felt her hand relax for just a moment. The tremors gone for those few short seconds.

Clearing her throat, Archie quickly retracted her hand and folded it back into her lap, feeling them shake against her thighs. Wanting to look anywhere else, Archie's gaze caught the redhead standing idly in the doorway. Arms crossed and an unsure jut of her chin as she chewed her lip.

"And you're Amelia, you said?" Archie asked, taking in the hurt that swept through the redhead's expression before a fake grin covered it up. "I'm…sorry I've disappointed you. I wish I could remember, but it's not always that simple love, especially with time travel."

"I know," Amy choked, sniffing once before making her way towards the bed. She sat down next to Archie, far too much space between them for her liking. "It's alright, was just a shock is all. It's just…been too long since we've seen this you. Have to say, it's nice having another Scot around. Where have you come from then?"

Brow furrowed, Archie allowed her hair to curtain her face as she stared at her twiddling thumbs. "A rather unfortunate place, Amelia," she responded after a moment. "The last thing I remember before showing up in that museum – though it was more of a graveyard than anything – is the war, Doctor. The war that tore the universe apart, and I was supposed to die there. I remember dying there."

Amy and Rory exchanged a glance, fear settling under their skin at the way the Doctor flinched. A sudden rage seeped into the corners of his eyes, fingers twitching at his sides.

"No," the Doctor asserted, jaw tight against his throat. "No, you were not meant to die there! You were always meant to come to us…to me."

Archie watched the Doctor carefully, eyes flicking over the tells he probably didn't know he had. "You're lying," she said simply, "and you know the truth about why I can now do the things I do. I can see it, Doctor."

He seemed to struggle with himself, mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words. But words were so hard! He didn't understand how she did it, how she always knew what to say. "Spoilers," he managed again for the second time, and hated the taste of the word on his tongue.

"I'm sure that's one of many codes we've made over the years," she commented, head tilted just enough so her blue eyes caught his green ones. Surely, it'd been years, with the way his eyes have aged. "That's all you have to say, I'll understand. You must remember, Doctor, I know the intricacies of time just as well as you do, if not moreso. I'd appreciate some transparency."

Like a scolded child, the Doctor nodded. Even after so long travelling together…well, he just wanted to protect her! He'd always been troubled by the way Archie spoke so freely about her near imminent death. She wanted honesty – of course she did, and she deserved it – but sometimes the Doctor just…slipped. Old habits die hard and all that.

Archie shifted on the bed, hand immediately pressing against the jutting of her ribs. All of the aches and pains of her hardships seemed to resurface at the movement, from the pulling of stitches in her abdomen to the stinging of her calf and soreness of her muscles. A sharp spike of hunger unsettled her stomach and her throat was particularly dry, tongue like sandpaper.

Frowning, Archie rolled her neck and laced her fingers just behind the base of her skull, straightening her back to stretch her spine. Oblivious as the others watched on, concern evident in their expressions.

Rory stepped forward, fingers wringing the damp – now red – cloth in his hands. "Um, Archiver, I'd like to help. I know you're in pain and just…if you'd just let me have a look, I could help." A few moments of silence passed where Rory thought she'd refuse him, and he didn't know what he'd do if she did, until she slowly nodded her head. A breath of relief, and he took another step forward. "I know it's, um, a bit awkward but…could-could you remove your jumper? I need to examine your ribs and any possible bruising for – for internal bleeding."

In an attempt to lift her arms, Archie held her breath at the spike of pain and halted the motion. "Am-Amelia, do you, uh, do you mind –" before she could even finish the sentence, Amy was by her side, moving slowly – both to minimize movement and to give Archie ample opportunity to ask her to stop – as she lifted the jumper.

Gently grasping one of the Time Lady's wrist, far too thin in her hands, Amy maneuvered the trembling fingers through the sleeve of the jumper. After doing the same to the other hand and pulling the jumper over her head, Amy cradled one of Archie's hands in her own. Tracing her knuckles, the bruises between her fingers and serpentining her scraped wrists as a distraction from the horror that made her own hands shake with Archie's in time.

The Doctor, even though he had seen it before so many years ago – and in plenty of his nightmares – couldn't help the pure fury that swept through his chest at the sight. He should have been there to stop it. But she'd never told him! Said it had to happen this way, messing with time was dangerous. Which he knew! But that didn't mean… didn't mean she had to go through so much pain for the sake of Time. Archie wouldn't let him interfere then – as with others – and she wouldn't want him in her space now. He stood back, one hand white-knuckled in his pocket, the other angrily tussling his hair. Counting to five under his breath.

Swallowing nervously, because this was Archie and the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her, Rory trailed his fingers along her sides. He avoided the stitches for the moment, though they would have to be removed, and applied pressure at different rib points to test for broken or bruised bones. Cataloging her reactions, Rory apologized for every wince and hastily sucked in breath.

"Nothing broken, just bruised," Rory announced, moving towards the pile of medical supplies he'd put on the side table. "Painful, but not dangerous. I'll wrap them just to relieve some of the pressure, more comfortable that way. But, first, I need to remove those stitches. They should have been taken out days ago, and leaving them in any longer could cause infection."

Archie met his gaze, understanding in the lines of her eyes and the small curve of her smile. She was forgiving him because she knew he needed that forgiveness. Her pain was not his fault. Yet, as he took the scissors and tweezers to cut the thin black threads laced through her skin, he felt responsible for every little flinch.

Minutes passed in a tense silence while Rory cleaned and bandaged Archie's wounds, hands steady but jaw clenched at the amount of pain his friend had to suffer. He circled thick cloth wrappings around her waist to stabilize her ribs, but left it loose enough to not restrict her breathing.

Flexing her fingers in Amy's grasp, as they had gone a bit numb from the redhead's tight grip, Archie removed her hand and rolled her shoulders. She tested her breathing and twisted her torso to check the stiffness, satisfied by the minimal soreness rather than the sharp pain from before.

"And now the fun part," she huffed, looking down at her calf. "I'll take care of this one, love. No need to bloody those nice hands of yours."

She slid off the bed and limped her way towards the sink. There was a convenient chair nearby that Archie snagged on the way, ignoring the several helping hands reaching for her.

"Please, Archie, I can take care of it," Rory tried, only to be waved off as Archie ran a clean towel under the tap after having collected disinfectant and bandages.

"It's alright, Rory," she said, meeting his eyes. "This is just a tad more…delicate than the rest. I know what I'm doing."

Hopping up onto the counter, Archie propped her foot on the chair for the right angle. She slowly started unwinding the blood-soaked wrappings on her calf, nose scrunching at the way it pulled unpleasantly at her skin.

The Doctor held his breath, emotions swelling in his throat. Because that wasn't just a recent incision like he'd expected, but rather a large, perfectly rectangular gouged stretch of muscle. It was lower than he expected and more toward the outer side of her leg. Several visible bits of her muscle – the fibularis brevis, the extensor digitorum longus, the soleus and the Achilles tendon, even the whites of her tibia bone – pulsed in inrritation, with small scalpel marks and puncture wounds from needles littered throughout the tissue.

He quickly shot across the floor, landing on his knees by her leg. Hands hovering over the wound, the Doctor's eyes shifted between the Archiver's visible muscle and her bewildered gaze. "Wha-what did he…I don't – why would he…?" He couldn't get any intelligible words out, just sounds that only seemed to confuse Archie further.

"Doctor, you need to breathe," she started, leaning down a bit to meet his eyes. She raised a hand, but hesitated to place it on his cheek, until he grasped the shaking fingers and placed them against his lips. Her breath hitched. "Darling, it's alright. I'm okay." She didn't completely understand why his shoulders immediately relaxed and his breathing evened out at her words, but she took what she could get.

"You – your leg. Ar-Archie, what the fuck happened to your leg?!" Amy shouted, hand gripping Rory's shoulder as he just stood there, mouth agape. Archie was lucky the wound wasn't infected.

"Van Statten, the curator of the museum I woke up in after my regeneration, wanted tissue samples. He knew I was alien –" she rolled her eyes, pulling her fingers from the Doctor's grasp as she sat up, much to his disappointment. "– which, how could he not with the way I'd arrived. All golden tendrils of light and energy and two beating hearts. And because of it, he ran a few tests."

"And that just – just gives him the right to dissect you, like some…some dead frog in a biology lab." Amy crossed her arms, tapping her foot to keep from pacing the room.

"No, of course not Amelia," Archie soothed as she started cleaning the blood from around the wound and what had dripped down her ankle and onto her foot. "He had no right to do any of it, the arrogant man. But he did, and it can't be changed now." She had to be particularly careful when using the disinfectant, as putting the hydrogen peroxide directly into the wound would only agitate the injury and cause more pain. Before wrapping her calf again with fresh bandages, Archie placed thick gauze padding over the extent of the bared muscle.

She tied off the bandages and looked up with a small reassuring smile. It didn't help the anger and fear that seemed to settle over the room. The air was heavy as Archie tried to dispel the tension. She hopped off the counter, treating her calf delicately, and she tried to hold back a yawn.

At Archie's apparent exhaustion, the Doctor shook himself from his anger – reminding himself of the five second rule – and bounced back on his heels. Clapping his hands, withholding a wince at the way Archie flinched as her senses were probably still a bit jumbled, he grinned and gestured towards the door.

"Well, I can show you to your room," he explained, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You can have a nice lie down, recuperate, and then we can talk a bit more about this. I'm sure you have questions."

Archie raised an incredulous eyebrow, because of course she had questions, and shrugged as she followed him to the exit of the infirmary.

Pausing just by Amy and Rory, both still latched to each other in the eve of their shock, Archie gave them a kind smile. "Thank you for helping me and…for caring about me. It's been a-awhile since anyone has really…cared like that." With only a small amount of hesitation, Archie placed a palm on both of their cheeks, running her shaking thumbs across their skin just under their eyes. She was shorter than them, but not by very much – maybe a few centimeters below Amy – and they both leaned into her touch. "I'll see you soon."

When she turned around, she noticed the Doctor holding his hand out to her, palm up. Archie met his eyes – eyes that exuded warmth that wrapped around her like a hug she'd been waiting centuries for – and placed her hand in his.

Just as before, the Tardis lit a path in the grating, though the Doctor could probably find his way without it. Perhaps the wonderful ship just wanted Archie to know she was there, as a guide and as a friend. The light was warm against Archie's bare feet. No words were spoken as they walked, but Archie was hyper aware of the way the Doctor's fingers gripped hers, squeezing every now and then, thumb tracing her bruised knuckles. It was…nice, if a bit unprecedented.

Maybe it was seconds, maybe minutes or hours, but Archie wasn't particularly counting, before they reached a room. Time flowed in an odd way for Time Lords, in that they could see the passage of every second, yet decades could feel like mere days.

Archie was struck by the audacity of a simple wooden door existing in this realm of metal and glass.

The wood itself was dark with warm cherry undertones. There were etchings in the door, flowers twined with vines and animals that breathed and stories carved into the wood with cherry shadows. The thin lever handle was long and copper, jutting from the door in a slight curve.

The Doctor's lips rose softly at the corners as he watched the Archiver trace the carvings with her shaking fingers. The way she delicately tapped the door handle like she wasn't sure if she could go inside. He chuckled, gently rapping his knuckles against the wood. "You can go in, you know," he hummed, leaning against the dark wooden frame. He nodded towards the door when she looked at him a little uncertainly.

Taking a deep breath, marveling at how her chest felt clear for the first time in weeks, Archie twisted the knob and took a step inside.

As far as bedrooms go, this one was fairly straightforward. A queen-sized bed with a rustic wood headboard made of basket-weaved panels, pale arctic blue sheets with piles and piles of fluffy pastel blankets. White ceiling drapings gave the room an almost tent-like appearance. An iron clothing rack stood in the corner with some rather eccentric outfits hung with wood hangers. And a large heavy-looking mirror leant against the wall. She didn't allow herself to stare too long at those.

An iron desk cluttered with an organized chaos, journals and books and colorful post-its. Another dark wooden work bench just to the right clustered with unfinished projects. Little wooden carvings, pages and pages of sketches and watercolor paintings. Metal skeletons of wiring in the shape of hands surrounded by different scraps of leather.

She didn't look for long at those either.

Archie was transfixed by the bay-window on the far wall with a soft cream cushion and at least half a dozen pillows. Light blue curtains framed the space, a few books stacked in the corner with marks at different pages. And, somehow, a vast overlooking view of a forest. Tall pine trees and a misty air, just cold enough for the best sweaters. Like the entire room was balanced on the edge of a cliff, slate rocks overlapped the floor. It was impossible, utterly impossible to have such a view, but Archie knew how adept a Tardis was at impossible things.

She could almost smell the musk of rain and forest.

The Doctor smiled as she took it all in, a wonderful fondness spreading from his hearts and making his chest warm. The Archiver has always had such a wonder about her, amazed by even the simplest of things just for the sake of being able to see them. Despite her centuries of life, she'd never lost that appreciation of witnessing time.

"This is…mine?" Archie asked with such insecurity the Doctor's jaw ticked. She deserved more than the universe could give her, he'd decided long ago. And this room – well, she hadn't really let herself see the details. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

"Course it is, all yours," He assured, stepping up next to her to gaze at the picturesque view his Tardis had created. A gentle wind ruffled the pine trees. He looked at Archie, noticing her hooded eyes and swaying shoulders. "You should get some sleep." And, because he couldn't help it, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead – perhaps a bit too lingeringly – and turned to leave.

Just before the door clicked shut behind him, he heard a quiet, "Why can't things ever be simple?" He couldn't hold back the small smile that curved his cheeks.

Ignoring the slight tingling where the Doctor's lips had been, Archie took one last look around and decided she didn't want to deal with it. She didn't want to understand, not right then. She just wanted to sleep, and those blankets looked ever so inviting.

*O*O*

Several hours passed in sleep for the Archiver and the Ponds, and in tinkering for the Doctor.

Recently in his travels with Amy and Rory, they only managed a few adventures before needing to return home – mostly because people might start noticing that they have been aging more quickly. As it stood, Amy responded to the Doctor's suggestion of taking them home with a resounding, "No, not until we know what's actually going on here!" and a few more choice words and they'd been sleeping ever since.

Figuring he may as well check on Archie – it had been nearly ten hours and Time Lords don't require much sleep – the Doctor wiped his hands of oil and not so neatly moved aside the tangle of wires he'd been toying with in another room of the Tardis. He stood and made his way down the corridor, taking note of the way the hallways had changed without him noticing. Rolling his eyes, the Doctor pat the wall of his Tardis fondly as he walked, tracing the little embellishments in the paneling as he went.

When he finally got to thei–her room, it was just her room right now, his brow furrowed at the slightly ajar wooden door. He'd always loved that door, watching as the carvings got more and more intricate over the years. He remembered when the Archiver first explained to him how all of her little projects were the only things that really helped her hands to still as her mind would be so intent on the details.

And now that beautifully carved door sat open just enough that the Doctor could see the warm glow of lights.

Not for the first time since he'd seen her covered in blood in the console room, the Doctor wished Archie trusted him enough to let down her mental barriers. No such luck, she'd been masked to him from the beginning – and she'd always been better at navigating their telepathy than him.

Pushing it further open, he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to find the room empty, but he was. He'd been hoping…well he'd been hoping this would have been one of her longer visits.

His hearts clenched as another thought struck him. She would have been alone, alone and in pain for her second – to her memory – phasing, without quite knowing how to pilot the process.

All he seemed able to do was fail her, especially in recent years. But he hadn't meant to! How was he to know she'd be gone already, just like that…though perhaps he should have. It was a habit of hers, after all, one none of them could control – and for good reason.

The Doctor sighed, closing the door behind him and hoping she'd managed a change of clothes before phasing away.

He quite literally bumped into the Ponds on his way to the console room. "Oh, hello, sorry about that," he babbled, patting the two on their shoulders.

Amy raised a brow at the Doctor's strange behavior. He wasn't usually so…oblivious to his physical surroundings, not completely anyway, and he was obviously hiding something. With narrowed eyes, Amy crossed her arms. "Alright then, where is she?"

"Who?"

"The Archiver obviously! Who else?" She huffed, tapping her fingers against her arms impatiently. "You're acting odd."

"Oh," the Doctor deflated, shoulders slumping as they made their way to the console room. "She just…she phased is all, sometime in the last few hours."

Amy and Rory stopped, sharing a dejected glance. Every time Archie phased away, it was like the Doctor turned off. His smile was never as bright, his movements not as fast or flamboyant, and he spent all of his time tinkering with the Tardis – like he didn't want to experience anything new or dangerous or exciting without her. It was something Amy and Rory could understand, but it still made them sad.

"So, that's what we're calling it – phasing?" An amused Scottish voice had the trio hurtling into the console room, hope swelling under their skin. "Marvelous choice, quite appropriate."

Archie was sat in the Captain's chair, one leg pulled to her chest while the other – her left – dangled, foot barely brushing the glass flooring. She'd changed, and the others were strangely comforted by the familiar look.

The oversized forest green sweater was baggy around her waist, tucked into the band of her sand-colored skinny jeans. She'd rolled the sleeves up her wrists a bit to show the cuffs of the thin white hoodie she wore underneath, the large hood pulled over her head. Her jeans were similarly rolled up above her sharp ankles, low rise white sneakers with checkered laces adorned her feet.

She was the epitome of multitasking as she fiddled with a dark brown leather glove, tapped away at one of the monitors, and occasionally took a spoonful of the warm soup still steaming in a bowl to her left. The glove was one they recognized, smaller with straps that would braid over her palm rather than wrap her wrist. This one had all five of the fingers, unlike the glove her brunette self preferred.

"I did a little snooping, and before any of you say anything about Spoilers," she was quick to raise a finger, halting any protests they may have started. "Whatever versions of me have been here before knew what to do. Everything that was left out in my room was deliberate. The notes, the drawings. And I'm more than capable of identifying what I should and shouldn't be looking at."

"We know that, Archie, we do," Rory assured, smiling as he took a few steps forward. He hummed at the smell of the soup, potato with bits of chicken and rice, and leaned against the console next to her. "This is just…so new to you, apparently. We don't want you to be overwhelmed."

"Bit late for that, lovely," she quipped, winking.

Amy stood adjacent her husband, eyes flickering between the glove that still had some exposed wiring and the strange symbols on the monitor that the Tardis wasn't translating. "So, what have you figured out?" She asked, head tilted.

"A few interesting snippets," Archie said, humming as she spun the chair around, bowl of soup balanced in her hands. She lowered the hood, blonde hair loose and brushing her collarbone. "The bits I already know: I 'phase' through the Doctor's timeline, have been – and will be – for quite a while at this point. This 'phasing' happens without my control, and it hurts. Something disrupted my last regeneration enough to wipe my memories of that time. I know of at least two of the Doctor's regenerations that I will encounter, so far each with different companions. The Tardis has been kind enough to share some basic information on your previous companions – and an additional past regeneration I will encounter – with me, including pictures and names so that I don't…distress them."

At this point, she was looking directly at the Doctor, eyes both sad and curious. He swallowed, nodding at he fiddled with the console. "And what's it that you've learned?" He had trouble meeting her gaze because he knew exactly what she'd figured out.

"Well, I know that I have a studio somewhere in the Tardis, a library of sorts," she started, pausing to take another spoonful of her soup. The Tardis had lead her to the kitchen earlier, after she'd showered and spent far too long staring at herself in the mirror. Her roots were darker than she'd thought, and it'd been awhile since she had blue eyes. "I haven't gone looking for it yet though, didn't need to drown myself in that quite yet."

Archie had needed to be productive, but she wasn't ready for the big stuff. So, when she'd been lead to the kitchen, she'd taken her time cutting up vegetables, peeling potatoes, and steaming the broth. Cooking had always been a good stress reliver for her, and she was flattered the Tardis had thought to indulge her.

"I know my counterparts have some rather…questionable wardrobe choices, but that's not really up to me," Archie chuckled, rolling her shoulders and straightening her back. She'd been hunched in that chair for at least a couple of hours. "I know that you, Doctor, know what's happened to my memories, and what's going to happen to bring them back. It scares you because you want to change it, but you can't."

The Doctor gulped, willing his stinging eyes not to shine. "Yes, well, it's –"

"– Complicated," Archie finished, giving him a soft smile that made his cheeks warm and tapping her nose twice. "I know, and it's okay, Doctor. I've also learned quite a bit about…us. It was hard to ignore some of the things in the room that were clearly yours. Discarded coats and socks, a half-finished sonic screwdriver, a handful of bowties clipped to a hanger." She eyed his choice of attire in thought.

The other three stiffened, meeting each other's unsure gazes. They'd never really known how to broach this topic with the younger versions of Archie. It's always been a…delicate subject.

"And?" The Doctor couldn't quite mask the hope in his voice, and he tugged his ear as he looked away.

"I – well, I," Archie stammered, discomfort clear in the way her trembling fingers gripped her arms, the bowl forgotten on the console. "I'm not there, Doctor – for obvious reasons and some not so obvious ones – and this isn't a situation of forcing or avoiding what might exist between us. I'm – I'm just going to live my new life, make the most of our adventures. And any feelings that may or may not…well, I can't guarantee anything and I can't promise to always know what to do. I've never been quite so…out of order before."

Nodding, because he could understand where Archie was coming from and he was just glad she wouldn't actively try to avoid him, the Doctor stepped forward and slowly wrapped his arms around her. He gave her plenty of time to move, to push him away if she wanted to. Instead, Archie wound her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. Giving into the urge to place his lips against her hairline, he closed his eyes and waited. It was an awkward angle because she was still sitting, but it felt like…coming home.

The Doctor lingered as long as she'd let him, but when he felt Archie start to pull away, he took a few steps back to give her some space. He smiled kindly down at her. "Well I'm sure you still have some questions, despite taking a look around."

Archie sighed, interlacing her fingers behind the base of her neck. "Hundreds of questions actually, but I'll start with the most pressing ones. The rest will work itself out later, I'm sure." She closed her eyes, going through the list of questions in her head. "How long am I usually in one place for?"

"It varies," Amy answered, lips curved slightly from watching her two closest friends. She was honestly surprised by how well Archie handled the situation. "Sometimes just a few hours, sometimes weeks. There was one time…" She paused at the warning look she got from the Doctor. "Ah, well there doesn't seem to be any pattern to it, in any case."

Archie pretended not to notice the hesitancy, that was something for another time. "And in between? How long is it before another me usually appears?"

"That varies too," Rory added, shrugging his shoulders. Archie had expected as much. "The longest we've noticed so far is eleven days, and the shortest was just a couple of seconds. It was probably only a handful of minutes before you appeared in the console room this time."

"Right," Archie said, thoughts flying behind her eyelids. "Do I always appear in the Tardis? I'd assume not, since I phased into Van Statten's museum."

Shaking his head, the Doctor tapped his foot, feeling restless. "No, in fact I'd say most of the time you appear outside of the Tardis. And sometimes – pretty rarely though, in comparison – you show up before me, like at the museum. That was seventeen days before I got there with Rose. I would have been there sooner, had I known."

Archie grinned at the indignation in his voice, like a whining child. "It happened the way it was meant to, Darling." She noted the way his tense shoulders relaxed, something about her words warming him. Something to think about later.

Mulling over her last pressing thought, since the others would likely be answered in time, Archie's hands lowered to her lap. Thumbs anxiously tapping her thighs. The Doctor noticed her anxiety, he noticed everything about her, and couldn't help feeling a tad anxious himself.

"What is it, Archiver?" He finally asked, wanting to put his arms around her again, or even hold her hand. Just comfort her in any way she'd allow. But the thought she might shy away from him kept him back. He could never forget the pain of watching her flinch away from his touch, like he'd ever hurt her.

"Does it always hurt so much?" She sounded so small just then, like a scared young child. Her eyes shined and her hands shook.

The Doctor didn't want to answer that question.


	5. Time Doesn't Account for Friends

**PLEASE READ**

**A/N: Hey everyone! It's been awhile! I hope this update finds you all safe and healthy given the current state of affairs around the world. I know for me it's been pretty hectic figuring out how to navigate the virus. All of my classes are online for at least the next three months. I can't fly home to visit my family for likely just as long though so I'm mostly just holed up in my apartment. Hopefully this will give me more time to write, I'd love to get out some more content for my readers so that they can have at least a small reprieve in entertainment.**

**So, my original plan for this chapter was to get into the nitty gritty of the Doctor's adventures with Archie phasing away right at the beginning...but I wasn't super happy with how I ended the last chapter. Even with how long it was, the ending felt almost rushed? Or unorganized? Either way, I just didn't love how I wrote it. So you're getting some more character interactions with the Doctor and the Ponds (sorry Rory, but you'll always be a Pond), as well as a special look into a bit of what makes the Archiver who she is. I know this will likely result in more questions than answers, but don't worry. There's still plenty of story left, a couple dozen chapters just for Book One if all goes according to plan. It will take awhile, and I hope you'll stick it out with me, but I want to get this story out there for you guys. And having it on paper (or on a screen I guess) is great for me as well. **

**The next chapter, hopefully coming soon, will really get into some canon show events. I am a little frustrated though because Doctor Who is no longer included in Amazon Prime so I have to pay for the episodes to help me follow along...but it's okay, I'll make it work! Just a small set back.**

**Special Thanks to all my dedicated readers and especially my reviewers over the last few months: bored411, Isabelnecessaryonabicycle*, Hearteyesmf, Notary Sojac, and drmsqnc**

***the actress who I'm using for reference is Vanessa Kirby, for no other reason than she is how I pictured this regeneration of the Archiver to look, I don't know much about her acting work or anything - also I love your username.**

**I absolutely love hearing from you guys! And while certain episodes are plot important, let me know if there is any episodes you're excited to see or would like to see sooner rather than later! I haven't completely worked out the in-between bits yet, mostly just the major plot points, so suggestions are welcomed!**

**I'm sorry for the long intro, I just wanted to update you all on some things. I will also be trying to post as regularly as possible back and forth between this story and my other _Peaky Blinders_ fic, but I'll try to not let the breaks in between be too long. Stay clean, safe, and healthy!**

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"A topic for another time then?" Her voice was still small, a strange resignation settling in the arch of her spine.

Rory stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. The action didn't feel awkward per say, just…inadequate, if he had to choose a word. "From what I know – which, granted, isn't much these days – the phasing process can be taxing for you." He paused, trying to get his words together. "But, you're never usually this disoriented."

Archie gave Rory a grateful look as his fingers slipped from her arm and he moved back to his wife. She could tell he was wishing he could be more help, not recognizing the good he's already done for her. They were likely very close.

He kissed Amy's temple when he noticed the tears glistening in her eyes. This was hard, very hard, much harder than the last time she didn't know them.

The Archiver's gaze flickered to the Doctor, strangely unresponsive. He seemed the sort to enjoy his own voice, from what she gathered. "The 'you' I met, the one in the bunker, he said something about not fighting the pull, not resisting. What does that mean?" It was a loaded question. She was fairly confident she knew what that meant. Mainly, she just wanted to know how much the other versions of her have shared about the process. Whether or not her new 'companions' even knew how to navigate it at all, or if she was truly meant to learn the hard way.

The Doctor, for his part, didn't quite know where to go from there. Interacting with blonde Archie had always been such a strange dynamic because it was like starting at the beginning with her fifth regeneration all over again, only…not. There was less trust, mostly on her end – though he sometimes feared what this version of her could be capable of – and he had to be so meticulous in how he treated her. And, often, he forgot this aspect.

Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say, he ignored it for his own sanity. Depended on the Doctor, depended on the day.

He moved to her side, feeling far too tall as she still sat in the captain's seat. "You get a pressure here," he placed his fingers between her shoulder blades and pushed just slightly, "that feels like a string tied around your spine, pulling with just enough force to be noticeable. Your senses start to fade, almost always starting with sight, but sometimes your hearing goes first. Touch is always the last."

He swallowed, moving as close to her as he dared. His fingers splayed over her sternum. Her breath hitched under his palm. "Heat builds in your chest, moving up your throat." His fingers trailed along the path he spoke of, brushing the curve of her jaw. "And just before you phase away entirely, you feel –"

She pulled away from him as the back of his hand hinted at caressing her cheek, the feeling too soft, too kind…too familiar. "You can't do that, Doctor," Archie murmured, thumb tapping rapidly at the flank of her thigh. "You just – you can't."

At some point, Rory and Amelia had left. She didn't know if that meant they weren't privy to the details of her phasing, or if they just wanted to give her and the Doctor some privacy. Either way, she was grateful for the lack of audience.

"I know, I'm sorry." He tugged his ear, playing with the idea of just telling her, of putting everything on the line just to hold her. 'Course, that's just a fanciful thought, one that could never end well. Instead he kept his distance, one hand gripped tightly to one of the many railings in the console room.

"Right," she sniffed, frustration leaking into the timber of her voice. "I'm not one who asks for help, not often anyway. Contrary to popular belief, I can grasp my own limits. And this, right here right now? This is a limit for me. I don't know what's happened, though I have a handful of theories. But theories can only take me so far. This is me, Doctor, asking for help." She rolled her shoulders, the tension painful. Her gaze finally met his. "You can't take advantage of that."

His head snapped up, horror filling his features. "I would – I would never take advantage of you! You must know that, you –"

"I want to believe you, and I do…on some level anyway. Part of me does recognize aspects about you, like knowing I'm safe, although I suppose that bit's relative." She shrugged, hands curling deep in the pockets of her jeans. Bigger on the inside, of course. "Look, I'm sure my fifth regeneration – brunette right? I think I heard someone mention that – handled this all much more eloquently, but I've just come from a place with no trust. I'm new, fresh, haven't experienced much beyond a concrete room in Utah of all places. All I have are the memories of my past regenerations, memories that don't exactly speak highly to my relations with our people, and have turned out to be rather unreliable recently. And, as much as I wish I did for all of our sakes, I don't recognize the people I now find myself subatomically attached to, so just–"

"Back in America, with Rose," the Doctor interrupted, matching her pose with hands in his pockets and leaning against one of the railings. Non-threatening, almost casual. She needed that stability and reassurance. He hoped the stutter in his voice at his former companion's name wasn't obvious, though by the Archiver's arched brow and sad eyes, it probably was. But that's an entirely different discussion, one riddled with spoilers. "It was terrifying, seeing you that way. You've struggled with phasing before, obviously. It's new and delicate and dangerous for a lot of reasons. But, back then, you were fighting it so vehemently that capillaries in your eyes and nose burst and your eardrums ruptured. Parts of your body were phasing without you, or trying to anyway."

Nodding, the Archiver allowed her shoulders to relax, if only slightly. "Yes, I remember. There was this strange sense of wrongness, like my body was completely misplaced. I willed the phasing to stop, as much as I could anyway. Terrifying? A marvelous understatement," she jested, a slim curve to her lips.

And while the Doctor would never be able to consider that day funny, his hearts warmed at the sight of her small smile. He tugged his ear again and looked away for a moment, not wanting to overwhelm her. "Well you were! Misplaced, that is. I haven't spotted a pattern, sometimes you'll be around for hours, other times months."

"But it's safe?" Archie pressed, brow arched in concern. "The phasing, it's safe as long as I do it right?" She didn't have a choice in the matter, she knew, but it'd be a nice reassurance.

The Doctor paused, he honestly didn't have a proper answer for her. Not one that wasn't either laced with spoilers or lacked any kind of clarity. Instead, he managed a more rehearsed response. "While I don't think any version of you would call it overly pleasant, it shouldn't be life-threatening or painful as long as the process isn't disrupted." And tried not to feel inadequate under her wilting gaze.

"How…diplomatic of you to say," she hummed, swaying for a moment as she wondered what to do next. Archie laced her fingers behind her neck in thought, a slight tremble in the curves of her palms. "You compared it to a string."

"Huh?"

"A string, you said, tied around my spine. Pulling taut with enough pressure to be noticeable, to let me know I have to leave again." Her gaze drifted over the different mechanisms of the Tardis as she spoke, marveling at the beauty of the ship. Hearts aching at the memory of her own lost Tardis, Archie closed her eyes for a moment.

The Doctor, confused by the turn in conversation, followed the path of her eyes around the Tardis and nodded. "Yes, that's how you described the process…a long time ago."

"Perhaps I need a new lullaby then," Archie quipped, fingers flexing along the arch of her neck. "You mentioned the lyrics back in the med bay, and it seems I may still have strings after all. Doesn't quite fit anymore, knowing what Walt used the melody for."

Now frowning with furrowed brows and a tensed jaw, the Doctor straightened and opened his mouth as if to speak. Yet there were no words. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. She was meant to understand, to connect the dots so that he wouldn't be put in this position. This precarious position of spoilers. She was always so much better with words.

The Tardis hummed beneath their feet, the warm orange glow pulsing through the grating. Speaking to them, trying to calm the atmosphere. The Doctor was, in that moment, so very grateful for the support of his beautiful ship. But…the Archiver only seemed to get more frustrated. He had no doubt the brush of the Tardis against Archie's mental barriers, regardless of the ship's intentions, was both so foreign and so familiar that she wouldn't know how to cope. That she'd want to return the communication and disappear all at once.

"You aren't trapped here," he started, a hesitance to his words not usually present. "You can go wherever you like, the Tardis will take you anywhere. You're not bound to us –"

"I am bound! That's the problem!" She flinched from her own outburst, rare as they were. Crossing her arms, she tucked her shaking hands into the warmth of her sides. "I was bound to my duties, to the war, and any pieces of freedom I managed to grasp were ripped from me. And now I'm being controlled again, after I had already made my choice. What was supposed to be my last choice."

"I'm not controlling you –"

"Controlled by circumstance then –"

"This wasn't my doing –"

"And why should I believe you? It's your timeline I'm stuck in after all!"

"Stuck! You're not a prisoner –"

"I am! I always have been!"

"Not here, never here, never with me." It was the way he said it, like the only true fact of the universe, that halted her next words. There was a familiar and unwelcome burning behind her eyes.

"If you want to land this Tardis and walk out that door to get as far from us – from me as you can for as long as you can, I won't stop you." He hated the words. They tasted bitter on his tongue. "If that's what you need to feel safe, to feel free, I won't get in your way. No version of me would."

He waited a moment, letting his words sink in, gaze flickering over her features. She looked conflicted and scared. So scared. Admittedly, he wasn't used to her being the scared one. Her fingers flexed at her sides, curling and uncurling from fists and trembling so acutely her wrists seemed unstable. The way her shoulders were curved inward was defensive – and he hated the idea that she felt the need to defend herself from him even more. With her eyes closed as she tried to relegate her breathing, her mouth moved minutely as she counted to five over and over.

"But," the Doctor started, daring to take a step forward. "If you want to stay, know that we can help. Yes, there's quite a bit we can't tell you, not yet, but we're still here." He held out his hand, palm up. "You don't have to be alone anymore."

The Archiver stared at the Doctor's hand, the plains of his palm and subtle indentations of his fingerprints. There was a smudge of what was probably oil or ink on one of his thumbs. He had calluses. They were worker's hands, despite his rather formal attire. The bow tie was an interesting choice. She didn't know what to do. In her mind, this was simply an illusion of choice, like so many times before. But she could tell how hard he was trying, how much he wanted her to trust him. And that could be just as dangerous as not trusting him at all.

She knew one thing for certain, she needed answers, and it was unlikely she'd find them on her own.

Just as the Archiver went to place her hand in his, someone cleared their throat on the other side of the console room, breaking the moment. Hand retracting quickly, the Archiver's gaze flashed to one of the many pathways into the room, noting Amelia standing there with a cocked hip and raised brows. Rory shuffled almost awkwardly by his wife's side, hands in his pockets. For some reason, she felt like she'd been caught doing something naughty by her parents.

"Doctor, we should probably be getting back, don't you think?" Amy tilted her head, wondering what they had interrupted. "Rory and I, we can't be gone too long."

The Archiver scrunched her nose as she thought about the question. "You don't travel with him?"

Shrugging, Amy sauntered further towards the controls. "Well, we used to basically live on the Tardis, but we do have lives outside of this, you know? So now we tag along whenever you two pop in. It can be right complicated sometimes, but we make it work. I don't think either of us could fully give up this life with you, with our family."

"That's…strangely wholesome." Archie smiled with the slightest curve of her lip.

"And, while normally we wouldn't want to leave you with conflicts feeling unfinished, especially when there's so much you're missing," Rory tapped his temple, looking pointedly towards the Archiver, earning an amused arched brow, "there are probably some things you two need to catch up on – without the distraction of some old friends, or new friends in any case."

It was quite comforting actually, to know they cared so much about her and still respected the space she needed in order to understand. Archie expected them to be suffocating, trying to force her memory forward, pushing her and quizzing her until eventually she just…well, leaving wasn't really an option. But the obstacle hadn't presented itself, not with Amelia and Rory anyway.

"So, Doctor, shall we get a move on?" Amy started, shifting attention towards the oddly quiet man. He'd been doing that quite a bit lately, random bouts of contemplative quiet. "Doctor?"

"Old friend…"

"What?"

"Old friend! Ha! Rory, you're a genius!" The Doctor bounced over, grabbing Rory's head and kissing his temple. "You've always got the best ideas, Rory Pond."

"Uh, Williams, we've talked about –" Rory corrected, only to stop. "Wait, what idea?"

"Old friend! I'm thick, is what I am, talking in circles. Round and round we go, but we never land anywhere!" He raced around the Tardis console, flipping switches, pushing buttons, smiling all the way. "You've been giving me hints, this whole time! Archiver, I'm sorry."

The Archiver followed his movements, hands white-knuckled to the curve of a railing as the Tardis shook. The whirring sound that came with it all, the grating sound of gears and flickering wires, the man left the brakes on. A habit, she could tell from his lack of concern and the fond exasperated glimmer of the warm Tardis glow. She stabled herself from a particularly steep twirl in the vortex and shuffled towards the Doctor and his manic steering.

"Sorry for what, exactly?" Her eyes scanned the console, identifying familiar buttons and switches as she went. Easily maneuvering around the Doctor like she'd been doing it for centuries, she pulled the nearest lever – bronze with a green underglow – and danced across the proper buttons to stabilize the ship.

"Your hints, my Daring Archiver," he said absently, a wistful film in his eyes as they worked the console in sync. "I've been missing your hints, so distracted by words and explanations and missing memories as if they mattered right now. Which they do, of course they do, but they also…don't. I'm mixed up, I'm thick and mixed up!"

"Well good to know not too many things changed about you since the bunker, easier to predict that way," the Archiver jested, sliding a dial and pushing the rather tempting red button beside it. The Tardis evened out, almost hovering with gentle spins as it curved through the vortex. "And still just as chaotic."

Amy staggered to her feet, moving to help her husband up as well. They shared a fond look, watching as their Time Lord and Time Lady bounced about, piloting the Tardis like it was always meant to be piloted – chaotic and precise all at once, with their own twists in style. Piloted by the two of them. Their funny little aliens, larger than life and still so easily amused by the simplest of things. Legends with changing faces and quirks and humors, yet always there, ever present in history and future and the middle bits especially. Amy had to hold back a laugh as Archie mock tapped the Doctor's opposite shoulder so she could flip the right switch and really get the Tardis picking up speed.

The whirring continued as the Tardis spun, orange lights flashing in and out of focus. It'd been so long since she'd flown a Tardis, since she'd felt that mental brush of the marvelous sentient ship, even if it wasn't the same. Could never be the same. She could hear the hum of the ship in her mind, on the verge of words if she just pushed a little further. But she wouldn't, this Tardis wasn't hers to listen to, to connect so intimately with. Especially when her true pilot, the excitable man to the Archiver's left – no, now her right – wait, now he's that way, by one of the monitors – especially when he didn't have that option.

It wasn't long before all movements slowed to a stop. The Archiver felt the pressure on the pads of her feet, even through the soles of her shoes, as the Tardis landed. The ground was solid with no bounce and just uneven enough to be natural, but not deliberate. Like rock.

"So, where are we then?" Amy asked, already slipping towards the doors, excitement in her steps. "What great adventure awaits us?" There was affection in the roll of her eyes. Rory grabbed her arm to stop her, jerking his head towards their motionless Archiver. She looked so…hopeful?

"Doctor?" The Archiver whispered, already smelling the familiar misty air, wet with rain and soil and memories. "Why have you –"

"You've been saying it, this whole time you've been hinting at coming here." His voice was soft as he stood behind her, hands in his pockets and a rather proud smile lighting up his features. "All you have to do is walk out those doors. We'll be right behind you."

She flexed her left hand, the glove snug along the joints, new as it was. This body was left-handed, something she'd only been once before and not for a long time. The dark brown leather was thick enough that she didn't feel the texture of the odd blue wood beneath her fingers as she pushed the doors open. Lips quirking at the rush of cool air, wisps of her hair flying along the plains of her cheeks, she took a step forward.

The view the Tardis conjured from the bay window in her room was nice, wonderful even, but it could never compare to this. The sun shone blue in the sky, small and as far away as it was, casting the sky in beautiful shades of violet and pink. They were on a cliffside made of black slate and stone. The trees arching in a semicircle around the clearing, twisting through each other and reaching high above them, were similarly black at the roots only to lighten in a gradient to silver near the tips of branches and limbs. The leaves were blue – no, green? The colors shifted in the wind.

By the cliffs edge, just before the drop off, was a perfectly out of place stone cylinder. The Archiver, after allowing herself a short moment to bask, made her way directly to the cylinder.

The others followed at a distance. Amy and Rory were taking in the new scenery with awe, not sure where or when they were, but always excited to see it. The Doctor took it a few paces slower, enjoying the mist and fresh scent in the air. It'd been quite awhile for both of them, and he wanted to enjoy this, as bittersweet as it all was.

"Whoa," Amy breathed, toes sticking just over the edge of the black stone. Down, through the thick mist, was a black sand beach and an ocean of matching vibrant color to the sky, lapping at the shores. "Now that's a long way down, eh Rory." She lightly smacked his chest, earning a startled and winded look that made her laugh.

"Yeah well, we should probably – you know," he gulped, looking between the drop off and his wife, "just, just stay back from the edge."

"Hey –" The Doctor interrupted, gaining the couple's attention. He held a finger to his lips, motioning with his eyebrows towards their Time Lady. She stood in front of the cylinder, gloved hand trembling over her mouth. Raising her bare hand, her fingers tapped the surface like it would shatter with too much pressure.

There had been an imprint of two symmetrical rectangles the Ponds hadn't noticed before, that now shifted. They pressed into the stone, dust puffing up from the surface, before sliding into the space like a door. And the Archiver just walked into the blackness, a thrill in her spine.

"Doctor, is this – is this another Tardis?" Amy leaned forward, head tilted and hand reaching. The Doctor grabbed her wrist, giving her a conspiratorial grin.

"Wait for it."

Moments passed, the only sound the wind and the waves, until lights suddenly flooded the darkness of the cylinder. The stone flickered as if trying to change its outer shell, only to dim and reform its gray round shape.

"Alright, time to introduce you two to an old friend." The Doctor released the Ponds, grinning and waiting for his turn to join them. Every Tardis had an aura, a personality that Time Lords could feel brush along their own. This one was choppy, stuttered and wilting. Dying, yet happy. So, so happy to have her Time Lady back.

The lights were mostly blue and white, unlike the warm orange of the Doctor's Tardis. But it didn't feel cold or harsh, it washed over the space in a calming glow, making everything bright. Whereas the Tardis they knew so well was mostly gold and bronze with the neon green glass accents, this one was soft. Full of whites and silvers with rose petal lighting and fogged glass. The console still held the basic idea, center-stage with branching off platforms and pathways. It was round, mostly glass with delicate curvatures.

This Tardis felt…ethereal, for lack of a better word. And then the lights flickered again, unable to hold their vibrancy. Amy couldn't help but think, while their Tardis breathed beneath their feet, this one wheezed like it had asthma or smoke inhalation. It didn't feel stable, almost like whatever Time Lord technology was keeping it bigger on the inside was only just holding on.

The Archiver stood at the console, hands and forehead pressed against the glass. Her breath dusted across the surface in little puffs. "C'mon Jitterbug, speak to me, just once," she whispered, willing her fingers not to shake as they trailed along the mechanisms of her Tardis. She knew them better than her own mind sometimes. "Like old times. Talk to me, Buggy."

"Doctor, what does she mean by that?" Amy asked softly, worry settling into her voice. "Tardises–Tardisi–Tardi–Tar…whatever, they don't talk. Not in any way we've been able to understand. Even you, you just interpret that weird psychic link best you can."

"Ah, but not her." The Doctor rocked back on his heals with a grim upward turn of his lips. "Amy Pond, haven't you learned yet? The Archiver, she's the exception. Much more than a Time Lady."

"And this…this was her Tardis?" Rory added, brow furrowed. A time when Archie didn't travel with the Doctor? He couldn't quite imagine it, despite the details he's gathered about his friend over the years. But she must have, being just as if not older than the Doctor himself…eventually anyway. And her stories, some of the people she's mentioned, the Doctor certainly wasn't a part of those.

It felt off to picture them so separate when he's only ever known the two together, off like when they'd go to a new planet and the stars were different in the sky – he knew they were different, but he didn't know his own sky well enough to put them back in the right places. Yet centuries existed before the two aliens ever even crossed paths.

The Archiver tuned the others out for the most part – storing the best questions for later to be answered – and patiently waited for her Jitterbug's response. It'd been decades – no, more than a century since she'd seen this ship – and likely longer than she thought considering her missing years. Her beautiful, wonderful, marvelous ship. "I'm here Buggy, I'm here to listen," she hummed. The melody of her lullaby not far behind. The flowing pink lights of the center glass pillars in the console seemed to pulse in rhythm with the song. The Archiver's responding laugh sounded wet and a little strained in her throat. "Hello, my love. I've missed you too."

There was something so enchanting about speaking with a Tardis, but none compared to her Jitterbug. Others were so formal, so estranged and weary of being able to communicate so clearly. Conversation with another Tardis could never be as fluid as the Archiver's connection to Jitterbug, for many reasons; not the least of which being how impolite it was to intrude upon the sanctity of the mental link. While there wasn't necessarily a voice to hear, the whirring and hums of the ship translated so easily in her mind, like the finest music being passed between two composers, blanketing her senses in a mutual understanding. This…this was home.

And it was a home she'd never really be part of again. Not even to the fault of her new travelling arrangements.

"Doctor, this Tardis is dying, isn't it?" Amy spoke softly, not wanting to interrupt her friend's reunion. She looked towards the man, noting the mournful way he watched Archie interact with the ship. Yet he still smiled, so very proud to see this version of Archie happy in a way she so rarely seemed to be.

"She's already dead," he said carefully, tugging his ear.

"But, we're here. We're in the Tardis, Archie is 'talking' to her right now! Whatever that's supposed to mean!"

"It's –"

"– complicated, yeah? It always is with you two."

"No…well, yes, but mainly…delicate. Jitterbug is dead, has been for almost three centuries – in my timeline anyway," he managed, voice strangely serious. "Except when the Archiver is here, when there's contact between the two."

"That doesn't make any sense, Doctor!"

"I just – why haven't we come here before?" Rory interjected, hoping to stop the approaching argument.

The Archiver stood from her kneeling position, a slight redness to her forehead from pressing it to the glass. She reached forward with her bare hand, allowing her fingers to gently tap the curve of the center lit pillars. It has become painfully clear how in the dark her new companions were about what she was. A disappointment really, considering how much they trusted her and she – or rather the other 'hers' – seemed to trust them. They knew her, obviously, and had history with her. But they lacked so much of the truth, from what she's gathered anyway.

The pressure between her shoulder blades made it clear she wouldn't get to fill in the blanks right now, even if she could find the words and the will to speak them. "Doctor, walk me through it."

"Huh?"

"The string, walk me through how to follow the string," she clarified, rolling her shoulders as she turned towards him. He was already looking a little out of focus to her gaze, a thin cloud of blackness around the edges. There was a ringing, like in the beginning stages of tinnitus. Her tongue was numb with the distinct taste of sand.

The Doctor's eyes widened in realization, sadness settling into his posture knowing she'd be leaving again. "Right, yes, um –" He wracked his mind for the right words. "Remember what I told you, back in Utah. Don't fight the pull, let your body relax." He watched resigned as she seemed to flicker before him, a furrow between her brows.

"Just relax," she reaffirmed, dropping her shoulders from their tensed height. The tingling of her cells started at her fingers this time, like the prickly feeling of renewed blood circulation, and her chest warmed.

Taking a few steps back, the Doctor motioned towards Amy and Rory, the couple watching their friend with melancholy smiles. "We need to go."

"What?" Rory asked, surprised that he'd be so willing to leave the Archiver. Especially when she was still learning.

"We can't be in here when she leaves, it's not safe." He led them to the Tardis doors, though he kept his gaze matching the Archiver's. Even as they made their way out, he wanted her to know that she wasn't alone, that she never would be with them. His hearts ached at the acceptance he saw in her eyes.

And she understood, of course she did. So far, the process didn't exactly…hurt. Uncomfortable, sure, and pinched especially sharp in her joints, but it wasn't overly painful. And even that was something she'd likely get used to with time. Her nerves were unsettled, trembling just under her skin, but in unison rather than in stages from limb to limb. It still felt…wrong to be so disjointed with reality. Her body flickered, vision going completely blank for a moment with a brief gust of intense pain that made everything white before refocusing. She was still unbalanced, if nothing else, and doubted she'd be able to stay standing for much longer.

The pressure of thin, gentle fingers caressing her cheek was the last thing she felt before everything shifted entirely and she was weightless.

The trio, now just outside the Tardis on the black slate cliffside, watched as their Archiver phased away. And with her leave, the lights dimmed completely. Amy took a step closer, breath hitching at the now hollow gray stone cylinder, before the doors slid closed with finality. She stumbled away, shaking her head as she went. "Doctor, what – what just happened? That doesn't…it's empty, it's smaller on the inside. I don't –"

Amy and Rory looked towards their Time Lord, the latter seeming sad rather than confused. Not that the Doctor was surprised; the Archiver was always so open with Rory, being her confidant in ways even the Doctor couldn't be for her. He probably knew more than he was letting on. And keeping something from Amy? Well, the Archiver is the only one the Doctor could think of that Rory would do that for, even if she told him he didn't have to.

There was some explaining that needed to be done…probably. Maybe. Well, someday, perhaps.

Instead, the Doctor smiled brightly, placing a firm hand on each of their shoulders. "C'mon Ponds, time for you to go home. Can't be gone too long, eh?"

"Williams, Doctor." And that's all that was said on their way back to their Tardis. After all, they were on a schedule…of sorts.


	6. First and Foremost, A Blue Box?

**A/N: I'm back! Sorry for the wait, class has kind of been kicking my butt recently - on top of everything with Covid-19 and the stay at home orders. I hope you're all staying safe and healthy! Thank you to all of my readers, this fic has nearly reached 4,000 views which is absolutely insane! There's only five chapters, but people are still showing interest! Because of the growing following, I'm going to try to get chapters out quicker, but the breaks will still be erratic. A lot's up in the air on my end, and I recently did some plot reevaluating that lead to changing a few ideas. But let's just get on with this chapter, the next one will hopefully be out within the next two weeks!**

**Special thanks to all of my reviewers from the last chapter: The Timeless Child, and Faery66. **

**An extra special thanks to bored411 who has reviewed every chapter so far and been a dedicated reader, I really appreciate it! I know the breaks are long, but I'm glad you enjoy the story enough to keep coming back :)**

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The Archiver was distinctly nauseated after the prickly sensation of her cells settling had passed, a feeling she hadn't gotten that first time around. Distracted as she had been by the pain, and without much food in her stomach. She almost preferred that…almost. Chicken, rice, and potatoes – not as good coming back up, if she were honest. And she always was, or tried to be anyway.

She stayed standing, somehow even with the dizzy spell, when she – reconnected? Unphased? Realigned? Giving up on that train of thought, there were too many words to choose from, the Archiver swiped a cloth from a nearby stall to wipe the spittle from her lips. She kicked some dirt over her sick, hoping no one would be unfortunate enough to step in it. There wasn't much else that could be done. As she took a look around, trying to figure out where she'd phased this time, she wondered if the Doctor just had a thing for Earth, or if it was simply coincidence she found herself back on the planet so soon.

Though, given his history of companions thus far, she'd say he probably had a soft spot for humans. She could understand, she supposed. They were rather…resilient creatures. Unpredictable. Spontaneous. Marvelous, really.

Someone rammed into her side, knocking her into the adjacent wall of the breezeway. She barely dodged the wine that spilled from one of the many jugs in the man's hands.

"Well, sometimes they're just messy," the Archiver hummed, readjusting her sleeves and checking her pockets to make sure nothing was missing. Couldn't be too careful, especially in Ancient Rome – she was about 90% sure of the time, a solid 75% on the place.

It was certainly Latin written on the signs and stalls and mixed in conversations, bits she picked up while searching for the Doctor. Likely sometime between 50 A.D. and 100 A.D. by the looks of things. Though it didn't particularly feel Roman, not quite extravagant enough. The stone buildings and archways were done beautifully, if a bit carved. Dirt crunched beneath her trainers, and the pathway she currently found herself strolling through – well, it was a nice little market, but not really what she remembered. She would expect more pomp from Rome, in fact she'd seen it first hand once upon a time. Long ago, very different circumstances. The Colosseum had been a trip though, the damned lions.

Make that 90% on the place, though different than her first thought, she was getting ideas about where she landed that didn't sit particularly well with her churning stomach.

Deciding that aimlessly walking around probably wasn't her best bet at finding the Doctor – not that she had to or even really wanted to, it was more for curiosity sake than anything else – the Archiver paused and stepped off to the side. Finding the Tardis, that would lead her straight to him, most likely anyway. And if not, well maybe she'd just fly off to her own adventure and skip whatever this was meant to be.

The Archiver closed her eyes, taking a deep breath through the nausea that had managed to stick around, and allowed her mind to drift. The chatter faded around her as she searched, but then something peculiar – oh, she liked that word, 'peculiar' – brushed along the edges of her mind. Something that shouldn't be there, Rome or otherwise. Something rather alien.

She wondered if he did it on purpose, this Doctor, or if he simply happened upon time altering anomalies by chance. Probably a bit of both, if she had to guess. Well, she couldn't swan off now. She'd managed a brief direction for the Tardis, a point to follow at the very least before she'd been distracted. Best to just get on with it, the particles in this air were making her skin itch.

Dodging through the crowd, the Archiver weaved her way expertly between patrons as she trailed the impression of the Tardis. The Doctor's Tardis, the only one left. She took a breath and kept running, well jogging – well, somewhere in between. The new trainers were nice though, snug and just a tad flexible. The shoe laces alone took an hour to pick out. Maybe she'd change them again next time she got the chance.

She felt the starting tremors of the quake seconds before the ground began to shake, but she was close. Skidding on the dirt at a particularly rough bend of the ground, the Archiver caught herself on the closest wall to steady her pace. It passed a few moments later, but that quake of the Earth was all she needed.

"Damnit, Doctor!" She cursed, the sound low and harsh under her breath. "Why? Why are you in Pompeii?" Her hands shook against the stone, nausea creeping back up into her throat. She made a note to plan her meals more carefully – phasing after having just eaten wasn't ideal by any means.

The Tardis link was strong where she'd stopped, so the Archiver took a moment to stall, pick out her location. Her fingers flexed, she realized it was marble, smooth and crafted and expensive. Bit lavish for her tastes. An architect's home, she could assume. Or maybe a Tardis, blending in as much as she could – the Doctor seemed the lavish type on occasion. Not posh per say, but a lover of boasting when he got the chance.

Jitterbug had been exceptional at blending in. Archie could admit to having lost her a time or two…or many.

So, either the building was the Tardis, or she was inside. Shrugging, deciding it didn't right matter as long as she found the Doctor, the Archiver made her way towards the front.

"…before Lucius Dextrus gets here. Look at your sister –" The Archiver picked up the voice, clearly one of a mother, just as she made her way to the entryway of the rather large home. Marvelous, she'd walked into a domestic of all things. "She's giving us status."

The Archiver leaned against the marble arch, deciding the Tardis was not this building, but likely inside somewhere. She scanned the room while the family squabbled, going unnoticed.

"Oh, yeah, 'cause it's all about Evelina."

As she looked, only half listening to the family, Archie spotted something quite strange. Extremely out of place, it was. Police Boxes certainly didn't exist in 79 A.D., not to her memory – which, granted had been spotty recently. But no, no that's far too odd to simply be a misremembrance. The Archiver wouldn't claim to be an expert when it came to humans, they could baffle her at the best of times, but anomalies were her specialty. The details of time, she was good at those.

And that box was almost definitely alive, the way it breathed against the wall of her mind. A big blue wooden Police Box, that's what the Doctor had her turn into? In Pompeii? The boastful type, indeed.

"She has the gift," the mother announced, pride in her voice. The words piqued the Archiver's interest, looking towards the young girl in the home, surprised when she made eye contact with her. She, Evelina, had been watching her. A curious tilt to her head. "Be proud of your sister for once."

"What gift's that then?"

It was rather unnerving, Evelina's stare as the others whipped to face her. Far too wise for a girl her age, too old. Archie knew quite a bit about that.

"I'm sorry, we're close–"

"Yes, yes, 'course you are. And about that gift…?"

"Can I help you with anything?"

Archie tapped the side of her nose and pointed toward the man. "You could start by answering my question."

"Who are you? Caecilius, who is she?" The mother asked, holding tightly to her daughter. Not quite fearful, but certainly protective.

"Well, that's a complicated question, 'specially in a time of philosophy. Who are we all?" She stalled, striding further into the parlor. Hands in her pockets, the Archiver stopped next to Caecilius. She leaned forward to get a proper look at his face, eyebrows furrowed. "You look familiar…have we met before?"

The man jerked back, gaze flickering between this strange woman and his wife. "No, we most certainly have not!"

"I'm not usually one to forget a face, or mistake one for another," she commented, tilting her head as she looked at him. It was unimportant, surely, but that face…she shrugged and slid away a few steps. "Granted, there's so many to see, who could keep track." She could, she really could, but it wasn't the time.

"Just who the hell are you?" That was the young man, the brother. The question was a bit rudely phrased, though he seemed more amused than upset.

Returning his grin with one of her own, the Archiver shuffled a bit as she got closer to Evelina and her mother. "Well that's just not fair. I asked a question first, we're meant to take turns. What's this gift you mentioned?"

Metella looked to her husband, shoulders stiff, and only continued when he nodded to her. "The sight."

"What sight's that?"

"A child of the Sibylline, gifted with sight and set to join the Sisterhood."

"A profit of sorts then?"

"Yes."

The Archiver made sure to hold eye contact with Evelina, taking note of her reactions. And of the symbols on her hands, a pair of crudely drawn eyes. This 'sisterhood' that was mentioned, she didn't seem particularly keen about it.

"And where did this gift come from?"

"The –" The mother paused, looking to her daughter. "Have you been consuming?"

"Not this morning."

"That word, 'consuming', what's that mean?" Following the two women towards what looked like a furnace – well a grate in the ground with rising steam at the very least. Was it a drug then, that gave her these abilities? Or perhaps simply heightened the latent abilities themselves? It was entirely possible Evelina had a minor gift of foresight, many humans did without realizing it. Well, maybe not many, but certainly not unheard of. They tended to need a kickstart to actually be of any use.

Before she could properly join them, a hand grabbed her arm. Not that tight though, she could easily slip through. She held back anyway, no need to disrespect Caecilius any more than she already had.

"You will tell me who you are."

"You're very repetitive, have you noticed?"

"Tell me!" But she could see it in his eyes, not anger but fear. He was afraid for his family at her intrusion. She'd been scaring them, shoulders dropping at the realization. She hadn't meant to – really! She hadn't. Sometimes she just got carried away, expecting others to keep up.

"You need not fear me."

"I will ask only one more time. Who are you?"

"Cassia," she said the first name that came to mind. A Roman name, a name she'd used before. Her eyes drifted. "That's a strange piece of art for a marble artisan."

"You said we were taking turns. I –"

"We are, it's my turn again. Where'd you get that blue box?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Just curious," she shrugged, giving Caecilius a wink that made him balk and his son chuckle. "Might want one of my own."

"Oh, I like you," the boy laughed, looking between her and Caecilius.

Father turned to son, face stern. "Quintus! Now is not the time for your foolery!"

The Archiver frowned, snatching her arm from the man's grip. She moved toward Quintus, draping an arm around his shoulders. "I'm rather a fan of foolery, perhaps you could use some yourself." Taking a breath at the rather scathing remark, this body was ruder than she liked, Archie tried again. "Apologies, Caecilius. I'm still a tad new to this face. Bit bipolar, this one."

The two Romans could only stare at her bewildered by the phrasing before the ground began to shake anew. "Positions!" Caecilius called, rushing towards the bust that often toppled over in their entryway during the quakes.

Just as the statue would have fallen to the ground, a new man skirted into the home, catching the bust. "Whoa! There you go," he grinned, realigning the bust in the small alcove. A woman was beside him, kind looking and just a bit sarcastic. Archie thought they seemed a tad too 21st century, not that she could comment. She had checkered laces on her trainers.

"Thank you, kind sir," Caecilius praised, a wide grin lighting up his features. He seemed to move on quickly from the disdain he'd felt for the Archiver, not one to dwell it seemed. Truly a kind man, he was. The type to forgive, to trust, to show gratitude.

This version of the Doctor, between the first and second she'd met, was thin. Truly, what a skinny man. With big hair and a big smile. And a nice coat. His companion, well that must have been Donna. Red hair, sassy walk. The Tardis had given her a bit of a heads up on who she might run into. Archie knew the two of them would get on nicely – hopefully, anyway.

"I'm afraid business is closed today, I'm expecting a visitor." Caecilius looked back at the Archiver, a brow raised. "A different one, anyhow."

The Doctor hummed, looking over the kind man's shoulder only to pause, eyes and grin both widening in kind. "Archiver! You got here first!" He noted the blonde hair, smile fading only slightly at the sight, and nudged Donna to take a peak.

"That's not Archie, Doctor," she whispered, eyeing the blonde. She was a stick of a thing, all long legs and baggy jumper and blonde. "Doesn't look anything like her!"

"We'll explain later, just play along," the Doctor huffed, turning back to Caecilius.

The Roman looked between the two parties, rather confused. "I'm sorry, 'archiver'? You…you know each other?"

"Sure do!"

"She said her name was Cassia."

"Uh, yes, quite right too," he stammered, shuffling into the room. "Archiver, that's just her title – well, more than that, but only just. Your visitor, that's me! Well us, all of us. Cassia just tends to wonder, get there first. She takes notes, you see. Hello!" He swept her into his arms, only briefly because of the way she stiffened, and turned back toward Caecilius. He wondered how long it's been since the museum for her, if she was still feeling pain from it.

"Notes?!" The Archiver jabbed his side, looking at the man incredulously. "I'm a temp to you?"

The Doctor looked at her, stared really, a brightness in his gaze. "Oh, never ever." She swallowed at the intensity of the way he said the words and turned her eyes away. She caught Donna's eye, the woman seeming very confused by the sight of her – but, surprisingly, not distrustful.

If this was the first time Donna was encountering a different face of hers, she would have expected more suspicion. Skepticism. Maybe even anger, she'd had that a time or two. The companion, though, seemed only curious.

"Are you alright?"

"Could probably use a breath mint, but other than that, I'm tip top." She scrunched her nose. "Oh, not a fan of that, 'tip top'. Far too Mary Poppins. Or is that 'spit spot'?"

"A mint?"

"Was a bit sick from the landing."

"Really? That happen often?"

"Don't know, haven't been doing this long."

Before the Doctor could respond, because really, he had so many questions about where she was in her timeline, about that day in Utah that she never seemed to answer properly, he was reminded where they were. "Who are you lot, then?" By Caecilius and his rather bemused expression.

"I am…" the Doctor floundered, thinking of a name. "Spartacus."

"And so am I!" Donna followed, winking at the Archiver as she did.

Archie coughed, trying to hide the smile threatening her lips. She barely managed to cover the laugh that bubbled at what came next. "Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Spartacus?"

"Oh, no, no, no. We're not married."

"Not together."

Brow raised at the way the two looked pointedly at her, the Archiver simply shrugged. What was she meant to do? They're the ones that went with Spartacus.

"Oh, brother and sister? Yes, of course!" Caecilius smiled at the two, clapping his hands together. "You look very much alike."

"Really?" All three of them said it that time, Archie's though a bit more amused than the other two.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not open for trading."

"And that trade would be…?"

The Archiver rolled her eyes, gesturing to the room they were in. "Marble, of course. Really, Spartacus, I'm surprised at you."

He bumped her again, clicking his tongue. "Ah, cheeky."

"Lobus Caecilius, mining, polishing, and design thereof." The man pressed a hand to his chest, pride squaring his shoulders. "If you want marble, I'm your man."

"That's good! I'm the marble inspector." The Doctor held up a black leather pad, psychic paper showing Caecilius his credentials. The Archiver was almost impressed, not having used psychic paper for centuries herself. She was sure it got the Doctor and his companions into all kinds of trouble.

"Even…you?" Caecilius looked to the Archiver, a new tremor in his voice.

"Oh, yes, well –" she paused, rocking back on her heels. "I tend to go in first, pretend to be a patron and see where it gets me. Often trouble, if I'm honest."

"By the gods of commerce, an inspection!" Metella gasped, looking towards the household gods carved into the marble of their shrine. "I'm sorry, sir – ma'ams – I do apologize for my son." She took his goblet of wine and poured the last of the cup into the pond in the center of their home.

"Oi!" Archie was almost indignant on his behalf, then she remembered her lack of taste for the stuff, and just scrunched her nose from the smell that lingered.

"This is my good wife, Metella," Caecilius introduced. "I must confess, we're not prepared for –"

"Nothing to worry about," the Doctor interrupted. "I'm sure you've got nothing to hide. Although, frankly, that object looks rather like wood to me." He pointed to the Tardis, striding towards it.

Archie's brow furrowed, a new thought entering her mind. She looked to Donna on her right, speaking low. "He lost the Tardis?"

"Yeah." Donna just rolled her eyes, arms crossing. The two followed just behind the Doctor. "Well – no…it was stolen, well sold."

"Does that happen a lot?"

The redhead shrugged, eyeing the skinny man – alien, whatever. "Not sure, haven't been with him long. Hope not, at least."

"And why's it a blue box?"

Donna looked to the blonde, brow raised. "What do you mean by that?"

"The Tardis, why's it a police box?"

"You don't know?"

"Should I?"

Eyes wide in surprise, Donna scoffed. "Uh, yeah."

"Right, well, course – yeah, course I know. That was a…test." She paused, rolling words along her tongue for a moment. "So," Archie started, a hesitance in her voice, "you, the two of you, you're not here on purpose? To change things?"

Donna perked up at the comment, hope daring to shine in her eyes. "Not on purpose, no, but you're here! Archie, you could convince the Doctor! We could save –" she stopped, heart sinking at the sadness in the lines of the Archiver's face, in the curve of her frown. "But, why?"

"It's not that simple, Donna. Time –" she took a breath, closing her eyes. "– it's fickle, delicate. And certain events must always happen. Pompeii, it's a fixed point in Earth's timeline."

The Archiver couldn't meet Donna's eyes, knowing she'd see disappointment there. And anger too, most likely. Time Lords, they lived fantastical lives, able to bounce through time and across the universe so simply. It was as beautiful as it was awful, to witness the birth and death of so many – from whole species to entire civilizations to planets to families to a single child. She hated it as much as she couldn't imagine doing anything else. Such was the burden.

"Oh, you're Celtic! There's lovely."

"Wait, what?" Archie frowned, tuning back into the conversation. "Celtic? Why would he think we're Celtic?"

"Ah, the Doctor must have said something in Latin," Donna answered, voice rather tense with her frustration. "Apparently, since the Tardis is translating everything we're saying into Latin, when you actually speak Latin, it sounds Celtic."

The Archiver shook her head because no, that didn't sound right. It should have just sounded Latin…unless, the Tardis was doing that deliberately? She wouldn't be surprised, the Doctor's Tardis did seem rather playful, the likes of which Jitterbug would have bonded well with.

"I'm sure it's fine, but I might have to take it off your hands for a proper inspection."

"Although," Donna cut in, smiling kindly at the family. "While we're here, wouldn't you recommend a holiday, Spartacus, Cassia?"

"Don't know what you mean, Spartacus."

"This lovely family, mother and father and son, don't you think they should get out of town?"

The Archiver was stuck though, where had Evelina gone? She'd just been there, breathing in whatever mist that rose from that grate. She'd have to take a look at that, figure out what it was exactly that was boosting her foresight abilities. Something alien, obviously, but which one – quite a few possibilities there.

She'd told Donna that this was a fixed point – and it was! She hadn't lied about that – but it still wasn't quite that simple. And she'd bet the Doctor hadn't realized it yet either.

"Oh Spartacus, Cassia for shame! We haven't even greeted the household gods yet." And then the Archiver was being dragged towards the marble shrine at the back of the room, having missed whatever they'd been talking about.

Flicking water onto the carving as he spoke, the Doctor frowned. "They don't know what it is, Donna." Archie was starting to make sense of it as he went on. "Vesuvius is just a mountain to them. The top hasn't blown off yet."

"Oh Donna," she sighed, wanting to reach out but not thinking she had any right. "They don't even have the word yet, volcano. Not until the mountain bursts. Named after Vulcan, their god of fire."

"You mean when it bursts tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?!" Archie hadn't realized how close they were, how little time they had. "You hadn't mentioned volcano day was tomorrow!" She rounded on the Doctor.

"I thought you knew!"

"How would I have known?"

"I don't know, I just usually assume you know things!"

"I'm sorry, while we're having this little family squabble and an entire city is about to be buried in ash," Donn interrupted, looking between the two aliens. "Can we take a moment to go over why you're blonde now?" She pointed at the Archiver, brow raised.

"Now's not the time, Donna." The Doctor waved her off, a deep frown marring his face.

"Oh, isn't it?" She quipped, "Because I'm under the impression time doesn't right matter at all! Not when you can talk about mints and vocabulary and why boxes are blue like thousands of people aren't about to die!"

"Donna, stop it."

"Listen," Donna snapped, meeting the Doctor's angry gaze. "I don't know what sort of kids you been flying around with in outer space, but you're not telling me to shut up. That boy, how old is he, 16?" The two Time Lords looked back at Quintus, hearts heavy. "And tomorrow he burns to death."

"And that's our fault?"

"Right now, yeah."

The Archiver rapped her arms around herself, stepping away from the two. Her fingers shook against the fabric of her sweater, the pressure of her grip sure to leave marks on her skin. It was their fault, more than the two of them realized. It was _going_ to be their fault.

Maybe she should have just let the Doctor leave, finished this on her own. He clearly didn't need the added guilt.

"Announcing Lucius Petrus Dextrus, chief augur of the city government." Horns followed the introduction, a man in luxurious robes followed by two guardsmen entering the home. His teeth alone made the Archiver's skin crawl.

"Lucius! My pleasure, as always," Caecilius greeted. "A rare and great honor, sir, for you to come to my house." He held out his hand, only to pause and retreat at the coldness in Lucius' eyes. The man hadn't moved to return the gesture.

"The birds are flying north and the wind is in the west." Lucius spoke, the rhythm like chalk coming from his tongue.

Caecilius, rather confused by the words, stood straighter. "Right, absolutely. That's good, is it?"

"Only the grain of wheat knows where it will grow."

"There now, Metella, have you ever heard such wisdom?" Caecilius reached for his wife.

"Never." She smiled, bowing as she passed Lucius. "It's an honor."

"Pardon me, sir, I have guests," Caecilius gestured towards the trio. "This is Spartacus and, uh Spartacus…and Cassia, their archivist."

"A name is but a cloud upon a summer wind." Lucius chanted, eyeing the three distrustfully. The one on the end, the blonde, she wouldn't even look at him. Distracted, dimwitted probably.

The Doctor grinned, head cocked. "But the wind is felt most keenly in the dark."

"Dark! But what is the dark other than an omen of the sun?"

"I concede that every sun must set –"

"Ha!"

"And yet the son of the father must also rise." Finished the Archiver, though her gaze was fixated on the grate. Vapers rising through the metal slots. It smelled of grain and rock and heat.

"Damn," Lucius clucked, glaring between the two Time Lords. "Very clever, sir. Evidently a man of learning." He seemed entirely keen on ignoring the Archiver. It was all well and good, she didn't particularly want to speak to him either.

"Oh, yes, we both are. Cassia and I, quite the learners," he boasted. "But don't mind us, don't want to disturb the status quo."

"They're Celtic," Caecilius whispered to Lucius at the strange phrase from Spartacus.

"We'll be off in a minute." He led Donna over to the Archiver, ready to take them both back into the Tardis and leave before they interfered with anything else.

"I'm not going anywhere," Donna argued, as she was wont to do.

"You've got to."

"Well, I'm not."

The Archiver grabbed the Doctor's hand, stopping him from reaching the Tardis. "Donna's right, Doctor."

"She is?

"I am?"

She smiled at Donna, taking her hand as well. "Course you are, smarter than you give yourself credit for, love." The red head smiled at that, grateful for the compliment. Archie could tell she didn't think that highly of herself – and that just would not do. Taking a deep breath, Archie met the Doctor's confused gaze. "There's more we need to do here, and I am so sorry."

"Sorry? For what?" He never liked when she said sorry like that, or at all for that matter. They never meant good things were coming, her apologies. And more often than not, it wasn't even her own fault. They had that in common, taking on mounds of guilt.

Donna watched the two as they looked at one another, a warmth in her heart. She didn't know this Archiver, not even a little. But she could see the Time Lady cared, just as any version of her would, and she wouldn't have stopped them if there wasn't a way to save people. And the Doctor, well, he was smitten more than he'd willingly let on. She wondered though, how much this Archiver knew – felt. She had been told, at the very least, that the two met out of order, even if the bit about different faces had been left out.

If she had to guess, Donna didn't think this Archiver felt what the Doctor did. Not yet, if ever. She was hard to read, that one.

"And here it is, exactly as you've specified." Caecilius announced, pulling the drape from his latest work. "It pleases you, sir?"

The trio looked over, eyeing the marble slab that resembled a circuit board. It didn't make sense, not even a little bit, for anyone to come up with that design in this age – foresight or not. The Archiver swallowed uneasily as she made eye contact with Lucius, the man watching her rather closely.

"As the rain pleases the soil." Lucius grinned when he turned to the marble slab, lips pulled over the curve of his teeth.

"Oh, now, that's different." The Doctor strolled closer, arms crossed and brows furrowed. He briefly looked back at the Archiver, noting the way she focused on Lucius, on his hidden right side. Hands pocketed, eyes sharp. Blonde Archie had always been the most...severe of the selves he's known. "Who designed that, then?" He turned back towards Lucius and Caecilius as he asked.

"My lord Lucius was very specific," Caecilius answered, pride leaking into his words.

"Where'd you get the pattern?"

Lucius glared as he shifted to face the Doctor and Donna, both of which had moved closer to the slab to get a proper look. "On the rain and mist and wind."

"But that looks like a circuit…" Donna trailed, not quite sure how they could have the pattern.

"Good eye, Spartacus!" Archie called, leaning against the back wall, near the silk drapes that led further into the home. "A circuit, or a piece of one at least, made of stone. Beautiful really. And Lucius, here, the good and wise man he claims to be, saw the image in a vision." She sniffed, rolling back and forth on her heels as she eyed Lucius. "I have so many questions."

"Do you mean you just dreamt that thing up?" Donna asked, tone unbelieving.

"I did my job!" Lucius barked, sneer widening his nostrils. "As the city augur."

"What's that, then, like the mayor?"

"Oh, you must excuse my friend, she's from…Barcelona." The Archiver snorted at the Doctor's coverup, earning a cheeky wink from the man. "This is an age of superstition," he spoke quietly to Donna, "of official superstition. The augur is paid by the city to tell the future. 'The wind will blow from the west.' That's the equivalent of the ten o'clock news."

"They're laughing at us."

"Evelina," Archie breathed, voice thin, shocked by the state of the girl She hadn't even noticed her come in. The girl looked ill, exhausted even. And something was hidden beneath the gold silk on her right wrist.

"Those two, there, they use words like tricksters. They're mocking us." Evelina swayed on her feet, eyes hollowed and dark, skin slick with sweat and pallor. "But you're not, are you?" She turned to the Archiver, hand reaching towards the woman.

The Archiver gently wrapped her fingers around Evelina's wrist, frowning at the strange flutter of her heart. She placed the back of her hand against the girl's cheek, the clammy texture evident even through the fabric of her glove.

"No, no, no," the Doctor stammered. "I meant no offence."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Metella gasped, striding quickly over to her daughter and taking her from the Archiver's gasp. "My daughter's been consuming the vapors."

Quintus swallowed, staring at the sickly form of his sister. "By the gods, Mother, what have you been doing to her?"

"Not now, Quintus!" Caecilius scolded.

"But she's sick. Just look at her!"

"I gather I have a rival in this household." Lucius stepped forward, eyes shifting between that of Evelina and the Archiver. "Another with the gift."

"Oh, she has been promised to the Sibylline Sisterhood," her mother praised, pride in the curve of her smile. "They say she has remarkable visions."

"The prophecies of women are limited and dull. Only the menfolk have the capacity for true perception."

Donna glared at the man, indignation in her posture. "I'll tell you where the wind's blowing right now, mate."

The home trembled at her words, the aftershocks of quaking Earth seeming to never settle. "The mountain god marks your words," Lucius spat, returning the ginger's stare. "I'd be careful if I were you."

"Consuming the vapors, you say?" The Doctor cut in, catching the Archiver's line of sight towards the heating grate. He turned back to Evelina.

"They give me strength."

"Doesn't look like it to me."

"Is that your opinion, as a…doctor?" The Archiver watched the girl sadly as she prophesized. Strength in mind, perhaps. But body? She was dying.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Doctor, that's your name."

"How did you know that?"

"And you…" Evelina ignored him, eyes flicking over to Donna. "You call yourself 'noble'." She wobbled for a moment, hand reaching out to grasp the Archiver's wrist. Grip tight, nearly bruising. "You go by so many names," she breathed, "but the one that haunts, that follows…the Asset, one of dozens."

The Archiver looked to the Doctor, jaw locked and back straight. By the way he stiffened at the title, he knew – he knew much more than he should have. Than she'd ever told anyone. The other hers, they must trust him quite a bit.

"Now then, Evelina, don't be rude," Metella hushed, patting her daughter's hair.

"Not rude at all, I'd say," the Archiver commented, running her thumb over Evelina's fingers on her wrist in a vain attempt at comfort.

"You come from so far away, so very far," the girl continued, eyes far off in her daze.

Having had enough, Lucius spoke firmly, "A female soothsayer is inclined to invent all sorts of vagaries."

"Oh, not this time, Lucius. I reckon you've been out-soothsayed." The Doctor seemed bewildered, thoughts swirling behind his eyes.

"Is that so?" Lucius chorused, a hint of snark making its way into his words. "Children of Gallifrey." He looks pointedly at the two Time Lords, lips pulled back smugly.

"What?" The two gasped, staring wide-eyed at the augur. He shouldn't have been able…even with the sight, he shouldn't – The Archiver swallowed. She jumped at the increase in pressure on her wrist, wilting at the sorrow Evelina looked at her with. The ground shook again.

"The strangest of images," Lucius went on, focusing on the Doctor. "Your home is lost in fire, is it not?"

"Doctor, Archiver, what are they doing?" Donna couldn't believe what she was hearing. They knew things, impossible things.

"And you, daughter of…London," he added, eying the redhead.

"How does he know that?"

"This is the gift of Pompeii. Every single oracle tells the truth."

"That's impossible!"

The Archiver shook her head, a new guilt settling into her hearts. Pieces were coming together, starting to make sense. Little bits here and there fitting like puzzle pieces. And it was her fault, all of it. "Nothing's impossible, Donna. Not yet."

"Doctor, she is returning."

"Who is? Who's 'she'?"

"You, daughter of London," Lucius continued, "there is something on your back."

Eye's snapping to the redhead, Archie tried to see what he was seeing, tried to make sense of the words. Something on her back? But what?

"And the Asset –"

The Doctor stepped forward, jaw clicking. "Don't you call her that, don't you dare!"

"The Asset," Lucius repeated, teeth spitting the title, "breathes borrowed air, air that will run out."

"You stop that, stop it now!" The Doctor barked, true fear and anger in his voice. He didn't want to hear that, to know that anymore than he already did.

Evelina stepped forward, thin tear tracks wetting her cheeks. "Even the word 'Doctor' is false, just as the 'archiver' and the 'asset' and all the others. Your real name is hidden." She trembled, knees shaking beneath her robes. "It burns in the stars, in the cascade of Medusa herself. You are both lords, sir. Lords…of Time."

The Archiver moved quickly when the ground rumbled at Evelina's words, wrapping her arms around the poor girl as she fainted from the effort. This sight…it was more dangerous than she'd thought. She closed her eyes, counting to five under her breath, before looking up to the Doctor. He was scared, she could see, and barely even hiding it. Heartbroken too, about their people.

It's not that she didn't feel that same heartbreak – because she did, the death of an entire race weighed on her hearts – but the Doctor had known happiness with their people. Had known family and thought and exploration. She hadn't, not since she was a child, a time she barely remembered. She hadn't been allowed to.

She had to look away from him.

With Caecilius and Quintus's help, Evelina was taken to a room draped in fabric and layered in cushions, the only light from a few scarce candles. The Archiver took turns with Metella, wiping the young girl's brow with damp cloth and dripping water between her lips.

"She didn't mean to be rude," Metella broke the silence, hesitantly looking between the Archiver and Donna. "She's ever such a good girl. But when the gods speak through her…"

Donna blinked, watching as Metella unwound the gold wrappings on Evelina's arm. "What's wrong with her arm?" She looked to the Archiver, noting the way she seemed so focused on the graying skin, lips pulled down into a frown.

"An irritation of the skin. She never complains, bless her." Metella held her daughter's arm carefully in her grasp, resignation in the curve of her shoulders. She couldn't help Evelina with her discomforts, not like she wanted to, not like she should. As a mother should. "We bathe it in olive oil every night."

"What is it?"

Metella paused for a moment, looking at the discoloration of her daughter's skin. The way it cracked and acted like rock. "Evelina said," she turned to Donna and the Archiver, hope and desperation in her tone, "you'd all come from far away. Please, have you ever seen anything like it?"

Donna stepped closer, touching what was supposed to be skin. "It's stone," she whispered.

"And you?" Metella looked to the Archiver, that small spark of hope quickly fading.

Archie swallowed, knowing what it was, what it meant. "Something similar, called Pretrifold Regression," she started, wincing at the fright that came to the mother's eyes. "Fast acting, turns it's victims completely into stone."

"What?!"

"Don't worry, that's not what's happening to Evelina," she was quick to follow up with. "You have my word. This, this is different. Not a disease."

"What is it then?"

She barely refrained from saying 'something worse' because it may not be. Worse, that is. Bad certainly, but might just be reversable – or at the very least stalled. "Assimilation," she said, not quite loving the word but not having any other. It was the truth, if a tad vague. "I need to speak to the Doctor." She left before either of them could protest.

"Do that a lot, does she?" Metella looked to Donna, one brow raised. Fear for her daughter simmering under the surface.

"Yeah," Donna sighed, glancing back at the unconscious Evelina sadly. "Yeah, a bit. She tends to wonder."

*O*O*

The Doctor carefully lifted the heavy metal grating from the hatch releasing the vapors into the home. It's been filtering the steam somewhat, so with the grate's removal came a large waft of the vapor. Warmth flooded the area.

"Different sort of hypocaust." He commented, looking up at Caecilius by his side.

"Oh yes, we're very advanced in Pompeii." The pride was clear in the way he spoke, a pride for his home. A home far too near to devastation. "In Rome, they're still using the old wood burning furnaces, but we've got hot springs heated from Vesuvius itself."

"Who thought of that?"

"The soothsayers. After the great earthquake 17 years ago." Caecilius remembered that time, the destruction of his home. "An awful lot of damage, but we rebuilt."

"Didn't think of moving away?" Certainly, they would have, finding a safer place to live seemed the smarter choice. But, well…humans and their sentiments. "Oh no, then again, San Francisco."

"That's a restaurant in Naples, isn't it?"

"Not as such, though I know where you're thinking of." They two turned to see the Archiver making her way towards them. Hands in her pockets, seeming casual despite the circumstances. "Good sweet bread, that parlor. Hello!" She waved, small smile pulling at her cheeks.

"Evelina, how is she?"

The Archiver allowed her shoulders to relax, giving the man a reassuring nod. "She'll be just fine, after some much needed rest." Her eyes shifted to the Doctor, brow raising at the way he was looking at her. Something like pride or perhaps approval in the shine of his eyes.

Rather than dive into whatever that was about, Archie instead shuffled closer to the furnace. Sweat immediately formed on her brow at the intense heat. She only slightly regretted the layered jumper and hoodie combination. Rolling the sleeves up a bit, and ultimately ignoring the way the Doctor's gaze zeroed in on the thin incisions on her forearms, the Archiver leant over to take a peek into the furnace.

Just then, a low rumbling sound came from the depths of the furnace, almost like a muffled roar that bounced off the rocks and echoed unpleasantly in the ear. The Archiver swore she saw something move, something sharp and living and angry. Something with glowing eyes.

"What's that noise?" The Doctor asked, now too leaning over the hole. The two Time Lords were opposite each other, cheeks brushing as they looked down.

"Don't know," Caecilius said, warning in the undertones of his voice. "Happens all the time. They say the gods of the underworld are stirring."

"But after the earthquake – 17 years ago," he clarified for the Archiver in case she missed that bit, "let me guess, is that when the soothsayers started making sense?"

"Oh, yes, very much so," Caecilius agreed. "I mean, they had always been...shall we say, imprecise. But then, the soothsayers, the augurs, the haruspices, all of them, they saw the truth again and again. It's quite amazing." He went on, looking between the two strange people who'd found their way into his home. "They can predict crops and rainfall with absolute precision."

"And tomorrow?" The Archiver interrupted, still staring down into the furnace. "Have they said anything?"

"No." He paused, contemplating her words. "Why, should they? Why do you ask?"

"Just wanted to know if I needed an umbrella is all," she mumbled, brows furrowed. It made sense really, why they wouldn't see it. Because as much as Pompeii was catalogued in Earth's future, the influence currently taking hold in the present didn't account for the disaster. Didn't even see it as a possibility, given the source of the foresight abilities.

The Doctor stared at the Archiver, wondering what she was thinking – and why she wouldn't confide in him. She knew more than she was letting on. He understood that something happened during her last regeneration to make her forget an entire version of herself, that made her distant from him because she knew him about as much as she knew Caecilius – distant in a way even her fifth self hadn't been despite the true newness of it all – he just didn't know what it was that caused it. Not yet. And he couldn't decide if he wanted to push for the truth or try to ignore it the best he could. Honestly, either option terrified him.

"And the soothsayers," the Doctor added, shaking the troubling thoughts from his head, "they all consume the vapors?"

"That's how they see."

"Ipso Facto," The Doctor hummed, reaching into the small pit and pinching the particles between his fingers. "They're all consuming this."

"Dust?"

"Crushed rock, caused by the small quakes," the Archiver explained, taking a pinch herself. "Little bits of the mountain that come up through the steams."

"They're breathing in Vesuvius." The Doctor realized, tasting the particles on his tongue. Something about it, something odd, something that wasn't strictly Earth in origin. Sharing a look with the Archiver, wondering what she knew, he patted the last of the dust from his hands and sat back. "Caecilius, could you give us a moment?"

"Oh, of course." The Roman backed away with a shallow bow, leaving the two Time Lords.

It was silent between them, just staring at each other. Waiting for the other to speak first. There was something in the Doctor's eyes, something in the way he looked at her, the intensity. Archie turned away first, letting her hair curtain in front of her face.

"What's going on here, Archiver?" The Doctor leaned forward, whispering with urgency. "What aren't you telling me?"

She took a deep breath, letting the steam coat her lungs. The dust was a tad scratchy, burning its way down her throat. "I'm not trying to hide anything."

The Doctor reared back, a startled look on his face. "I know, Archie. I didn't mean –"

"Do you remember all of the species decimated by the war?" She asked, tracing the rim of the furnace with a gloved finger. Shaky trails were left in the dust along the marble. "The civilizations now homeless?"

"Archiver…"

"Do you know how many of those were my fault?" She rubbed the dust between her fingers. It stained the leather a dull gray color. "I remember all of them."

The Doctor…didn't know what to say, if he was honest. He could try and convince her of her innocence, remind her that she'd been forced to do many terrible things. She wouldn't agree, wouldn't believe him. But anything else would be reaffirming how she viewed herself, the perfect executioner she thought she was. And he was _not_ about to reinforce that idea.

"You're rather fond of bananas." The Doctor blinked, now completely lost in her meaning. Had he missed something?

"Course I am," he mumbled, brow raised. "Good source of potassium, bananas." He watched as she too blinked, slow and dazed as she seemed. She'd done that thing again, the one where she spaced out, receding just a bit too far into her mind. "And you've always been rather partial to strawberries."

The Archiver shook her head, rolling the strange thought between her teeth. It came from nowhere, that memory of bananas. And his response – she couldn't remember ever trying strawberries before. "Whatever is in the mountain, Doctor," she moved on, deciding it really wasn't the time, "it's alive." She met his eyes, warning in the blues of her own. "And it's angry."

"What do you think it's doing?"

She shrugged, looking over the beautiful home they found themselves in. A home to be destroyed within the day. "Coming up for air, I suppose." Turning to the Doctor, she gave him a small sorrowful smile. "You should get to Lucius Dextrus' house, find out what you can about the circuit he's building. Ask Quintus, I'm sure he'd be eager to help, with the right prodding."

"Prodding?"

Reaching into her pocket, the Archiver pulled out a shiny gold coin. "The Tardis is rather good at preparation, I've found. She insisted I bring this coin with me." She twirled the metal piece between her fingers, flicking it with her thumb at the wide-eyed Doctor. He barely managed to catch it. "I think she knows a bit more about where I'm going than she lets on."

"And you?"

"I haven't the foggiest what's happening to me."

"No, no," the Doctor chuckled, shaking his head. "I meant, while I'm stalking Lucius, what are you gonna do?"

The Archiver tapped her nose, winking. "Keeping an eye on Donna."

"Oh, she'll hate that."

"Course she will, she hardly needs it anyway," Archie jested, folding her arms over her knees. "I'll do what I can here, analyze the dust. Maybe reach out, you know…" She pointed to her temple significantly.

The Doctor was a bit apprehensive at the prospect, not liking the idea of her mind going anywhere near something so unknown. "Just, uh, be careful." He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and was gone before she could even register what he'd done.

The Archiver blinked, fingers reaching up to trace the impression he'd left on her skin. She huffed, dropping her hands to her sides and pressing her face into her knees. "You're rather fond of that as well."

Sighing, she completely turned her body towards the furnace, back now to the rest of the home. Sitting straight, legs crossed in front of her, the Archiver held her left hand over the heat. The leather of her glove warmed from the steam. She pressed her index finger to her palm and then released, watching as a blue light spread from the very center of the glove. It was a thin sheet of light, starting at a point on the center of her palm and widening into a general triangular shape. It moved slowly back and forth over the furnace, scanning the insides.

When she felt enough time had passed for a sufficient scan, about 15 seconds or so, she closed her hand into a fist and turned it over. Opening her hand, the light shined again, only this time from each of her fingertips. The lights met in the middle, making what could be called a holographic screen, in simple terms that is. Lines of code rushed along the hologram, the Archiver scanning the minerals and elements that made up the dust of Vesuvius.

Most were Earth in origin, but not all. Those were the ones she focused on. They seemed almost familiar, with rather similar properties to Earth's magma. But something niggled at the back of her mind, something that told her she should know what this was.

Frustrated, the Archiver fisted her hand again, pressing it rather harshly into the marble she sat on. "Okay, next tactic," she mumbled, straightening into the same position as before. Legs crossed, back flat. Just slightly tilting her head forward so her hair curtained most of her face. She took a deep breath, held her trembling hands over the pit – palms up – and closed her eyes, receding into the depths of her mind.

Her hands calmed.

*O*O*

Donna shimmied in the silks of her new dress. Purple was definitely her color, and the gold embroidering along the hems was a nice touch. It draped nicely, smooth across her skin, with an additional shawl and a deep neck line. She felt rather important, clad in silk as she was.

Evelina giggled at the way she swayed.

"You're not supposed to laugh," Donna grinned, turning to the young girl. "Thanks for that." She took the shawl, wrapping it around her shoulders and draping the fabric lavishly over her chest. "What do you think? The Goddess Venus?"

"That's sacrilege!" Evelina gasped, smile stretching her cheeks.

"Nice to see you laugh, though." Dropping the shawl from her shoulders and folding it into her lap, Donna took a seat on the cushions by Evelina. "What do you do in old Pompeii, then, girls your age? You got mates? Do you go hanging round the shops? TK Maximus?"

Evelina paused, smile wilting just a tad. "I am promised to the sisterhood for the rest of my life."

"Do you get any choice in that?"

"It's not my decision." Eveline shook her head, looking away from Donna. "The sisters chose for me. I have the gift of sight."

The gift of sight, the gift that allowed her to see who they were. Their otherworldliness, or in Donna's case timeliness. She had questions, lots of questions. About the Time Lords' planet, about what they meant by 'The Asset', about so many things. But just then, one question at the front of her mind, Donna decided to ask. "Then what can you see happening tomorrow?"

"Is tomorrow special?"

"You tell me. What do you see?"

Evelina closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she let her mind float with wind. Her brow furrowed when there was a strange wiggling sensation just behind her eyes, like someone was trying to see inside. Forcing the feeling away, she focused on tomorrow. "the sun will rise, the sun will set. Nothing special at all."

Donna sighed, not able to understand why they couldn't see, why they didn't know when they had people who could see the future. "Look, don't tell the Doctor I said anything, 'cause he'll kill me - Archie too, maybe, haven't quite figured that one out yet – but I've got a prophecy too."

Gasping, inked hands flying up to cover her face, her eyes. Evelina shook as Donna tried to speak the words of her prophecy. She made sure the sisters could hear while Donna spoke.

"Evelina, I'm sorry, but you've got to hear me out," Donna started, leaning forward desperately. "Evelina, can you hear me? Listen!"

"There is only one prophecy!" Evelina insisted, fingers quaking along the plains of her face.

"Everything I'm about to say to you is true, I swear." Donna moved forward to grasp Evelina's wrists, imploring her to listen and understand. "Just listen to me – Tomorrow, that mountain is going to explode. Evelina, please listen! The air is going to fill with ash and rocks, tons and tons of it, and this whole town is going to get buried."

"That's not true!"

"I'm sorry." Donna sniffed, wondering how the Doctor and the Archiver could do what they did, travel around and only save some when they got the chance. How they could live with it, all that death. "I'm really sorry. But everyone's going to die."

Evelina was taking deep breaths now, quicker and quicker. The word 'no' whispered between her lips, and more. "False prophecy," she croaked, the words shaking.

"Even if you don't believe me, just tell your family to get out of town." Donna tried, she was trying so hard. To save a family, to save someone from the ash. "just for one day, just for tomorrow, but you've got to get out. You've got to leave Pompeii."

"This is false prophecy!" Evelina dropped her hands, staring at Donna – betrayed by the lies she was being told. "Why are you – why are you lying to me?!"

"Oh, Evelina, I'm not! Please –"

But she wouldn't listen, wouldn't let the false prophet spew more lies. Donna had been kind to her, someone she would have liked to call friend given more time. Her chest hurt from the ache of betrayal, of lies. She sped out of the room to get away from Donna, who followed close behind.

They made it back to the front room, Donna reaching for Evelina to explain, to insist again that they leave. She almost runs into the girl's back when she finds her stopped in the foyer, a curious tenseness in her shoulders.

"Evelina?"

"What – what is she doing?"

Donna followed the point of Evalina's finger, brow raising at the strange sight of the Archiver. Her back was to them, sat crossed legged on the marble lip of the furnace, hands held out in front of her. Calm, quiet, still. So incredibly still. Was she even breathing? "I'm not really sure," is all Donna can manage, hesitantly taking steps towards her friend.

Before she could touch her, ask the Time Lady what was going on or what she was doing, still as she was, the ground began to shake anew. Only, it felt different than the quakes they'd felt so far. Rather than the consistent intensity of the quakes, it rumbled in integrals. Mini-pockets of trembling Earth, getting heavier. Like something was getting closer. Like footsteps.

"What is it? What's that noise?" Caecilius and Metella rushed into the foyer, alarm in the urgency of their pace.

"That," Caecilius started, looking around as their home shook, "doesn't sound like Vesuvius."

"Caecilius!" The Doctor ran in, Quintus not far behind. Panic settled in his chest as the tremors got louder, heavier. "All of you, get out!" He looked around, making sure everyone was there, that he could get them all out. His hearts stuttered when he turned towards the furnace. "Archiver! Snap out of it!"

"Doctor, what is it?!" Donna held tightly to the wall to keep on her feet, Evelina doing the same just next to her. She looked fearfully between the two Time Lords, the Archiver not seeming to respond to the Doctor' call.

"Think something is following us," the Doctor explained, dodging through the room to get to the Archiver. "Archiver, please!" He wrapped one hand around her wrist, the other buried in the hair at the base of her neck. He leaned closer, voice low next to her ear. "Come back to me, sweetheart."

The Archiver choked as air rushed into her lungs, her body shuddering from the abrupt return from her mind. She flinched back, scurrying away from the grating on the furnace as the shaking grew more instance. That sound they'd heard before, it was closer, louder, a deep growl that shuddered against her ribs. And she knew what it was, what had taken over the underbelly of Pompeii the last 17 years.

Pushing off the ledge she'd been balanced on, taking the Doctor with her to the floor, they barely managed to clear the space before the grate flew up and the marble crumbled.

They curled around each other as debris rained down on them. The Archiver was tucked into the Doctor's chest, his arms circling her shoulders and head. Her arms, twisted up through his own, hands covering what she could of his head as some minimal protection.

Unwinding from the tangled position, the two Time Lords scurried from the rubble, the Doctor's hand laced tightly with the Archiver's. Her hand shook in his as they made their way towards Donna and the others.

Ground unstable beneath their feet, they watched as a beast of rock and stone and fire burst through the floor. So tall that it crushed the ceiling. It roared at them, the sound primal and thick with rage.

"Just get out!" The Doctor yelled, waving the family towards the exit, wanting to save the from this. Even if he couldn't save them from tomorrow. He wanted to protect the Archiver this time, like she always protected him.

"the gods are with us," Evelina breathed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The Doctor looked around, sighting the dazed look in the Archiver's eyes. Something about this, about that creature was affecting her in a way he hadn't seen in quite a while. They needed a solution, even for the moment, something quick, something… "Water! We need water!" He turned to the family, shocking them from their awe and fear. "Quintus, all of you, get water! Donna!"

"Blessed are we to see the gods," one of Caecilius' men praised, true belief and trust in his voice. He was close, far too close to the creature. The Archiver, seeing what was about to happen, lunged forward – just as she had to catch the fading Dalek – and pulled the man away from the awaiting flame.

Once the fire dissipated, the Doctor rushed forward. Arms up, hands splayed in what was hopefully a calming gesture. He made a note to scold the Archiver later for jumping in front of fire. It was a bad habit of hers, jumping in front of things. "Talk to me, that's all I want." He tried, getting as close as he could. He made sure to stay in front of anyone else in the line of fire. "Talk to me, just tell me who you are. Don't hurt these people! Talk to me!"

The Archiver watched, backing away as far as she could from the beast. She found herself next to Donna just as the redhead returned with some water. Before she could thank the woman for her efforts, they were swarmed by several red clad women. All with paint on their faces and hands matching Evelina's. She let them drag her away, rather curious by the development. She had faith in the Doctor to protect the rest from the Pyrovile.

"I'm the Doctor!" He tried again, hoping for a response, for something. "Just tell me who you are!"

He didn't get an answer, he didn't think he would've even if Quintus hadn't rushed in with the water. Tossing the buckets of water, the creature almost wilted, rocks shifting and collapsing from the lack of magma as a conduit. Steam rose from the beast, filling the space with heat. Eventually the fire went out completely, the once animated stone now solid slate, crumbling and dissipating into a pile of dust and broken pieces of rock.

"What was it?!" Caecilius clutched his wife close to his chest, fear in the tremble of his words.

The Doctor approached the pile, brows furrowed and just a bit angry. "A carapace of stone." He breathed, tasting the still warm dust in the air. "Held together by internal magma. Not to difficult to stop, but I reckon that's just the foot soldier."

"Doctor, or whatever your name is, you bring bad luck in this house," Metella cursed, though it mostly came from her fear. "You and those vagabond girls."

Clenching his teeth at the words, the Doctor scoffed. As if Donna was any less than her namesake, noble as the knights of legends. As if the Archiver the most incredible impossibility of the universe. Instead of griping, like he so dearly wanted to, the Doctor chose the more diplomatic route, "I thought your sone was brilliant. Aren't you going to thank him?" Well, okay…he used the term diplomatic loosely.

Oh, but the pride that shown in Quintus' smile. The Doctor didn't need fancy words to appreciate that. Or for the hug between a relieved family that followed.

He turned back to the remains of the – magma monster? Magmonster? Terrible names, truly. "I don't know." Rubbing a hand along his jaw, fingers digging into the skin of his chin, the Doctor wondered. "If there are aliens at work in Pompeii, it's a good thing we stayed. Donna! Archiver!"

But…they weren't there. Why weren't they there? Wondering companions, what was the point of them? And the Archiver, gone again. Maybe phased away, he didn't think so though. No, she usually let them know when it was happening. He never liked her to be alone for the Phasing, not if he could help it.

"Archiver!" So, the two of them were gone, no idea where. Probably not of their free will, if he had to guess. "Donna!"

This kind of thing happened more often than he cared to admit. He counted to five under his breath.


	7. Fixed Points, A Crash Course

**A/N: Yay! A relatively quick update from me for once! I'm so glad you guys are liking the story, and especially how much you all seem to like the Archiver. I've noticed there seems to be a formula when it comes to 'Time-jump' stories with the Doctor. Generally the character starts off human, coming from a world where _Doctor Who_ the show exists, and then there's some twist that reveals the character to be not human in some way. Don't get me wrong! I love those stories, I think they're fantastic and there's always some unique twist to each of them. But I didn't want to write in a formula.**

**I'm glad that some of you see the Archiver as capable and as an equal to the Doctor. She is a Time Lady after all, with centuries of her own experience, and should be able to keep up with the Doctor. Maybe even surpass him at times, we'll see. I really love writing this character and I can't wait for you all to see what else I have planned. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon!**

**Special thanks to all of my reviewers from the last chapter: bored411, The Timeless Child, Catlorde, and Lil'Sparrow7**

* * *

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

The Archiver could only watch as Donna was latched to the stone table in the center of the temple they'd been dragged to. She swallowed, looking away as the scene reminded her far too much of Utah, and cursed under her breath. Or tried to at least. A red scarf muffled any real sound. Tied to a pillar as she was, Archie couldn't exactly protect Donna from her position.

Though, given the circumstances, the companion was doing rather well. More angry than scared. Course, she probably knew the Archiver wouldn't honestly let her get hurt – and if she didn't, well the Doctor would likely be there any minute.

In the meantime, she focused on the crudely tied ropes around her wrists, instead of the memories rushing behind her eyelids. Half listening to Donna and the gathered sisterhood to make sure she wasn't in danger.

"The false prophet will surrender her blood and her breath."

"I'll surrender you in a minute," Donna grumbled, tugging at the binds on her wrists and ankles. If she angled her head just right, she could see the Archiver out of the corner of her eye. Tied, gagged. Oh, the Doctor will not be happy about that. Her gaze spun quickly back to the sisterhood when the glint of a dagger caught her eye. "Don't you dare!"

"You will be silent!"

"Listen sister, you might have eyes on the back of your hands, but you'll have eyes in the back of your head by the time I finish with you!" Donna pulled at the ropes again, wondering what was taking the Doctor so long – he surely must have noticed they'd disappeared by now. "Let us go!"

"This prattling voice will cease – forever!" And the dagger was raised.

And really, the Archiver might have feared for Donna, blade above her one fragile heart as it was, but it just so happened… "Oh, that'll be the day!" The Doctor had chosen just then to make an appearance, striding in with a staggering amount of confidence.

The sisterhood turned to the Doctor, horror on their faces. "No man is allowed to enter the Temple of Sybil."

"Well, that's all right. Just us girls." He sauntered in, swagger in his walk. "Do you know, I met the Sybil once? Hell of a woman. Blimey! She could dance the tarantella. Nice teeth, too. Truth be told –" his steps stuttered, eyes landing on his longtime friend – well, more than friend depending which one you asked – restrained to a pole. That wouldn't do, not a tick. "– I think she had a bit of a thing for me. I said it'd never last. She said, 'I know.' Well, she would, wouldn't she?"

The Archiver raised a brow, eyes following the Doctor's stride as he got closer to her. She wondered if it was true, that he met the Sybil. If any of it was true because, while she wouldn't hold it against him, the Doctor was clearly a talented liar.

He stopped barely a foot from her post. "You all right there?" She gave him a rather bewildered expression, jerking her chin behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he laughed. "Ah, yes Donna. She's alright, just fine. Ain't that right, Donna?"

"Oh, never better!"

"See? Fine." He grinned, hands folded behind his back and rocking on his heels. Archie looked distinctly unamused – well, not completely if the crinkle of her eyes was anything to go by. A moment passed, where he just stared at her, before he blinked and looked at the red scarf around her mouth. "Ah, right. In need of assistance then?"

Rather than respond, because really _the scarf_, the Archiver raised her now freed hands from behind her back. The rope dropped to the ground. Pulling the red cloth up and over her head to toss it aside – she really wasn't a fan of red – the Archiver snorted at the delighted expression on the Doctor's face. "Really now, Doctor. For someone who sees so much, you notice surprisingly little."

She walked around the Doctor, patting his shoulder as she passed. Cutting between the sisters in the red capes, her nose scrunched at the color. No, definitely not a supporter of red. "Right then, hello love." She waved down at Donna once she stood by the companion's head. "I never got a chance to compliment the toga. Purple suits you."

"Thank you! And the ropes?"

"Nah," Archie hummed, "best get rid of those." From just the right tug at the right place, the ropes loosened and fell away from the metal links. "The knots were poor anyway, and where's the fun in that?" She winked at Donna, laughing when her faced reddened from the comment.

"Bit flirty, you are," the redhead grumbled, pulling the ropes from her wrists as she sat up.

"Am I? Oh, that's new!"

"Not really," the Doctor bounced over, grinning at his two companions. "Well, I say not really – that's a bit relative. It carries over you know, the flirting. I think you do it to annoy me."

"Says the man boasting a relationship with the Sybil."

"Oh, you were there, nothing happened. Well, I say nothing…"

"Was I?"

"Course you were," the Doctor grinned, twirling the sonic between his fingers. "The two of you together, wasn't sure I'd survive that dance." He winked, only half disappointed when the Archiver didn't blush. Turning to the others, he stuffed the sonic back into his suit chest-pocket. All humor left him. "Let me tell you about the Sybil, the founder of this religion. She would be ashamed of you," he spat. "All her wisdom and insight turned sour. Is that how you spread the word, eh? On the blade of a knife?"

"Yes, a knife that now welcomes you!" She raised the blade again above her head.

The Archiver stepped forward, grabbing the woman's wrist. "No need for that dearie, we're here to help," she quipped, twisting the girl's wrist so the dagger would slip from her fingers and clatter to the ground.

"Show me this man." A voice, high and regal, spoke from behind the shimmer of a red silk curtain. The Archiver could just make out a silhouette among the folds. The sisters all turned to the curtain, quickly taking positions to kneel on the ground.

"High Priestess, the stranger will defile us."

"Let me see!" The woman ordered. "This one – these ones are different. They carry starlight in their wake."

"Oh, very perceptive," the Doctor commented, just a bit wary as he approached the curtain. "Where do these words of wisdom come from?"

"The Gods whisper to me."

"No, no they don't," the Archiver scoffed, hands in her pockets. "True, you hear whispers and orders and futures, but they are only as God as the title you've given them. And they've done far more than whisper."

The Doctor looked around, an idea coming to mind. "Might I beg audience?" He turned to the sisters. "Look upon the High Priestess." The curtains were drawn, Donna gasping beside him at the sight of the priestess.

On a bed of extravagant blankets and pillows sat a stone woman. Molten and rough like magma that cooled too quickly. She was draped in red fabrics, only her face and parts of her arms exposed. Even her eyes were hallowed craters in her face, blinded by her transformation. And she was in pain, so much pain – Archie could feel it in the creek of her shoulders and the rattle of her breathing. She was surprised the priestess still had movement in her jaw to speak, let alone her hands and arms.

"Oh, my God!" Donna grabbed the Archiver's hand, not noticing the strange look she got from the woman at the action. "What's happened to you?"

"The heavens have blessed me."

"If I might…" The Doctor stepped forward, holding out his hands in the hopes of examining the priestess. He held her stone hand between his, feel the rough realness of it. "Does it hurt?"

"It is necessary."

"Who told you that?"

"The voices."

The Archiver squeezed Donna's hand in comfort when she felt the companion stiffen. "Evelina will be okay, Donna. I'll make sure of it." She paused, debating her next words, before looking to Donna again. "You have my word."

"We don't need any help, we except the blessings of the gods," one of the sisters said, coming over to the two and exposing her stone skin. "The blessings are manifold."

"They're turning to stone," Donna whimpered, feeling the rock beneath her fingers.

"Exactly," the Doctor agreed, looking up at the priestess in some strange form of awe. "The people of Pompeii are turning to stone before the volcano erupts. But why?"

Donna's brows furrowed, looking to the Archiver at her side. "You mentioned, with Metella and Evelina, that this was some kind of assimilation. What's that mean?"

"Assimilation?" The Doctor repeated, eyeing the Archiver. She met his gaze, holding for a moment, then finally nodding. Thoughts whipped behind his eyes. What's it mean? Assimilation, that – "Of course! Archiver, a genius as always!"

"This word," the High Priestess spoke up, drawing their attention back to her stone form. "This image in your mind, this volcano. What is that?"

"More to the point, why don't you know about it?"

"They can't, Doctor." The Archiver walked forward, dropping Donna's hand. "Not when the source of their sight doesn't have the knowledge either." She put a hand on the Doctor's shoulder, looking to the priestess. "These creatures – I never knew…"

"I am the High Priestess of the Sibylline!"

"No, who are you?" The Doctor reiterated, placing his own hand over the Archiver's. "We're talking to the creature inside you. The thing that's seeding itself into a human body, in the dust in the lungs. Taking over the flesh and turning it into what?"

"Your knowledge is impossible!"

"Oh, but you can read our minds – well, mine at the very least. Don't know about her," he turned to the Archiver. "Can they read your mind?" She tilted her head, thinking for a moment and the Doctor grinned. It was cute when she did that, like a confused puppy.

"Not really, no," she decided, shrugging a shoulder. "Not unless I give them access first."

"Right then, so my mind." He nodded, swinging back around to the priestess. "Our knowledge is no less impossible than your existence. I demand you tell me who you are!"

"We are awakening!" Her voice changed, layered and deeper and echoing in the temple with authority. The Archiver covered her ears at the grating sound. Knowing the sound, hating the memories that came from it. She remembered the screaming.

The sisters in red surrounding them gasped, bowing low to the ground. "The voice of the gods!" They began to chant. "Words of wisdom. Words of power. Words of Wisdom. Words of power…"

The Doctor clenched his jaw, looking between the sisters, the High Priestess, and the Archiver. She knew what this was, he could tell by her eyes, the guilt in them. It was more than the guilt they often felt for lives they couldn't save, minds they couldn't change. No, she – she genuinely blamed herself for what was happening in Pompeii. But why? "Name yourself! Planet of origin, galactic coordinates, species designation, according to the universal ratification of the Shadow Proclamation."

"We. Are. Rising!"

"Archiver, tell me who they are, now!" When she only shook her head, folding into herself and taking several steps back, the Doctor felt his hearts clench. She kept mumbling apologies under her breath. He looked to Donna, his own worry mirrored in her face. Turning back to the creature, for she wasn't a priestess anymore, he growled, "Tell me your name!"

"Pyrovile!" The sisters chanted the name of their gods, rocking back and forth on their knees.

Donna moved towards the Doctor, rather disturbed by it all. "What's a Pyrovile?"

"That's a Pyrovile. Growing inside her. She's at halfway stage."

"What, and that turns into…?"

"That thing in the villa, that was an adult Pyrovile." He looked to the Archiver, the way her shoulders shook. "Assimilation," he breathed, realization settling in. "You've seen this before."

"The birth of a Pyrovile, Doctor, will incinerate you!"

Quickly moving in front of the Archiver, who seemed to be having a rather difficult time breathing, the Doctor pulled out a yellow water pistol from his suit pocket. "I warn you! I'm armed!" He pointed the, albeit harmless, gun at the priestess while nudging Donna along. "Donna, get that grille open."

Shocked, Donna scoffed at the Doctor. "What the…"

"Just!" He jerked his head towards the metal grille. "And take the Archiver with you! Slow her breathing if you can."

Donna nodded, speaking lowly to the Archiver as she guided her towards the grate in the floor. She didn't know what to do, listening to Archie muttering apologies under her breath. Laying her palm against the other woman's cheeks, surprised when she felt a bit of wetness, Donna leant just a bit closer. "Please, Archie. I don't know what's going on, but I need your help right now. Please."

And it was like a flip switched in the Archiver's mind. Her shoulders stilled. Her breathing evened out. Her grip on her hair loosened, though her fingers still shook. When she met Donna's eyes, the companion only saw resolve. And kindness. And maybe gratitude. The only trace of her upset being a slight redness in the whites of her eyes. "Five seconds Donna, always remember to feel for five seconds."

With those bewildering words, the Archiver pulled a speechless Donna towards the grating in the floor.

"What are the Pyrovile doing here?" The Doctor asked quickly, keeping an eye on Donna and the Archiver. Glad to notice the latter having calmed, if only a little. Her hands were shaking more than usual.

"We fell from the heavens. We fell so far and so fast, we were rendered into dust."

"Right," the Doctor agreed, noting the way the Archiver's movements stuttered at the words. "Creatures of stone shatter on impact. When was that, 17 years ago?"

"We have slept beneath for thousands of years."

"Okay, so 17 years ago woke you up. And now you're using human bodies to reconstitute yourself. But why the psychic powers?"

"We opened their minds and found such gifts."

The Doctor frowned, still not quite understanding. It was falling into place – it was! Only…he chanced a glance at the Archiver…not as much as he liked. "Fine, so you force yourself inside a human brain, use their latent psychic talent, I get that, yeah. But seeing the future, that is way beyond psychic. You can see through time, I only know one other who can truly do that. Where does the gift of prophecy come from?"

"We've got it, Doctor!" Donna called, lifting the grille.

"Now, get down!"

"What? Down there?"

"Yes, down there."

"C'mon Donna, he'll be right behind us!" The Archiver quickly lowered herself into the hole, moving aside and helping Donna as she positioned to do the same.

"Why can't this lot predict the volcano? Why is it being hidden?" The Doctor continued, feeling their time running out.

"Sisters, I see into his mind! The weapon is harmless!" Of course, there was always something getting in the way.

Shrugging, because really this was the chaos he lived with on the daily, the Doctor smirked and pulled the trigger. Plastic, but a trigger all the same. "Yeah, but it's gotta sting!" While the Pyrovile writhed from the water, the Doctor took the chance to follow Donna and Archie down the hatch.

Once all three of them were down there, they took a moment to breath. Donna could only laugh at the absurdity of it all. "You fought her off with a water pistol. I bloody love you!"

The Archiver, little humor to be found in the arch of her brow or the dip of her frown, looked around to pick the proper tunnel. "This way, c'mon." She was already headed down the path before the others could comment.

"Where are we going now? Archie, wait!"

"Donna," the Doctor paused, grabbing the companion's wrist, "about the Archiver…"

"What?"

"Just – just remember you have nothing to fear from her."

"Doctor, what are you on about?"

"Something about this…about all of this is personal for the Archiver. Something from before any of us knew her. We're going into the heart of the volcano, so just – just remember she's different now. Okay?"

And really? That only gave her more questions, more concerns, but it wasn't the time. It never felt like the right time with those two. The irony there was not lost on her. Instead, she nodded, and followed the Time Lord into the volcano. A volcano, for god's sake!

As they moved through the rock pathways to catch up to Archie, something occurred to Donna. Hope stirred in her chest. "But, Doctor, if it's aliens setting off the Volcano, doesn't that make it alright for you two to stop it?"

"It's still part of history."

"But I'm history to you, to both of you. You saved me in 2008, you saved all of us." She swallowed, simply not understanding. "Why is that different?"

"Some things are fixed, some things are in flux." The Doctor explained, knowing it wasn't that simple but going with it anyway. "Pompeii is fixed."

"How do you know which is which?"

Frustrated, the Doctor stopped and turned to Donna. "Because that's how I see the universe. Every waking second I can see what is, what was, what could be, what must not." He paused, willing her to listen, to take in his words. "It's the burden of a Time Lord, Donna. And I'm the last one."

"And the Archiver doesn't count? Is that how she sees the universe?"

"No." The two turned to see the blonde leaning against the wall of the path, eyes trained on her checkered laces. "Sorry, didn't mean to eavesdrop. You were taking a while to catch up."

The Doctor grimaced, shuffling his feet. "Archiver –"

"That is, of course, what a Time Lord sees." She took a deep breath, tapping her thumbs against her thighs in rapid jerky movements. "And the Doctor is the last of what they used to be."

Donna looked between the two, shaking her head. The Doctor seemed to be in pain, watching the blonde with an aching sadness. "I don't understand. What does that make you?"

The Archiver raised her head, finally meeting Donna's eyes. She swallowed, wondering how much all the others knew. "I'm not strictly Time Lord, Donna. Haven't been for…for a long time."

"But what does that _mean_? What are you?"

The Doctor rounded on Donna, a rare anger in his eyes, in the clench of his fists at his sides. "She's the Archiver, and that's all that matters. C'mon then, we have some Pyroviles to stop." He started walking, reaching for the Archiver's hand as he passed and pulling her along.

But Donna wasn't done, not when there were thousands of lives on the line. "How many people died?"

"Stop it!"

"Doctor! How many people died?"

"Twenty thousand!" He sighed, age seeping into the weight of his shoulders.

"Is that what you can see, Doctor? All twenty thousand?" Donna shook her head, wondering if the Doctor really could be the man she'd made him out to be. "And you think that's all right, do you? Both of you?"

"It's not that simple Donna –"

"Twenty thousand lives, Archiver! And you see it, maybe more than the Doctor does." Donna took a deep breath, feeling her own frustration rising. "You've been feeling guilty this whole time! What have you done? What have you caused?!"

Before the Archiver could respond, the tunnel shook with the tremors of a roar from one of the creatures. Bits of loose rock rained down on the group. The sound was far too close for comfort. "They know we're here, come on!" The Doctor held the Archiver's hand tightly in his own, reaching for Donna with the other.

Moving through the tunnels was a task in itself. Archie usually wouldn't consider herself clumsy – quite the opposite in fact – but it still hadn't been that long since Utah and her calf smarted from all the running. She'd already stumbled a few times at the pace they were going. Hopefully she wouldn't need any fresh bandages.

Eventually they reached a rather large cavern, all red stone and dust and patches of fire. Heat seeped into their skin, clinging to their clothes and wetting their hair. The Doctor led the two of them through the maze of boulders, finding the best vantage point to see the creatures. The sounds around them echoed like screeching metal and cracking stone.

There were at least a dozen Pyroviles that they could see. Absolutely massive, they were. Sharp and furious and flaming. They stood in what looked to be an altar of some kind. At its center, trails of magma flowing from the crater, sat a metal sphere. It was red hot, burning from the heat. But still intact.

"It's the heart of Vesuvius." The Doctor commented, watching the Pyroviles as they almost milled about without a care. "We're right inside the mountain."

"There's tons of them."

"What's that thing?" Pulling out a small spyglass, the Doctor tried to get a better look at the sphere.

Archie merely squinted, glad for her sharp eyes in that moment. Really, they were probably the best eyes she's ever had, clear and not a bit fuzzy. "It's an escape pod."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Well, you two better hurry up and think of something." Donna cut in, looking just behind then when she heard heavy steps. "Rocky IV's on its way."

The two Time Lords carried on, barely aware of Donna's warning. "So, they arrived in in an escape pod? Not a prison ship? Or a gene bank?"

"Yes, Doctor, I'm absolutely positive. Escape pod."

"But," Donna started, moving forward to kneel beside Archie. She eyed the woman for a moment, remembering the Doctor's words. "Why do they need a volcano? Maybe it erupts and they launch themselves back into space or something."

"No, I think it's worse than that."

"How can it be worse?" Behind them, a Pyrovile roared again. "Doctor, it's getting closer."

"Heathens!" The trio turned to the shout, finding Lucius Dextrus looking rather haggard with his crumbled stone arm. "Defile us! They would desecrate your temple, my lord gods!"

The Archiver shuffled, grabbing the Doctor and Donna's hands. "Right then, must be off!" She led them towards the escape pod, only a smidge worried if there'd be enough room for the three of them.

"We can't go in!" Donna yelled, trying to pull her hand back, but the Archiver had a decent grip.

"Course we can, especially when back isn't an option, love!"

Running through the rocks, the Archiver barely managed not to wince at the pain in her leg. It'd be fine, she could tell, but that didn't mean the nerves were happy. She preferred happy nerves, less of a nuisance when it came to running.

"Crush them! Burn them!"

Of course, just as they were getting close to the pod, a Pyrovile had to be in their way. Standing all tall and menacing and just on fire really. Luckily, the Doctor still had the water pistol. He reached into his pocket and found…nothing. "What?"

"Oh, this is cute," The Archiver jumped in front of him, twirling the pistol on a finger. She pouted at the bemused look on his face. "What? You got to do it last time."

"When did you even –"

"Swiped it sometime between hand-holds. Now stop giving me that look, you'll get wrinkles." She turned to aim at the Pyrovile, hating the comfort she felt from holding the weapon, even a water pistol. "Grab Donna and get to the pod. I'm right behind you!" Spraying the creature, she felt the guilt settle further into her hearts.

She was to blame for this, for all of it. For twenty thousand lives.

The creature roared at the sting of the water, and Archie took the chance to round its legs where the Doctor and Donna were waiting for her by the escape pod.

"There's nowhere to run, Daughter of London and her Time Lords!"

"Now then, Lucius, my Lord Pyrovillian," the Doctor started, grabbing back the water pistol with a hard look at the Archiver. "Don't get yourselves in a lava. In a lava? No?"

"You're timing is impeccable, Doctor, but no. Not a lava," Archie said, Donna shaking her head behind her.

"No, definitely not."

"Eh, right then," he continued. "But if I might beg the wisdom of the gods before we perish…Once this new race of creatures is complete, then what?"

"My masters will follow the example of Rome itself," Lucius puffed his chest, pride and reverie seeping into the curve of his words. "An almighty empire, bestriding the whole of civilization!"

"But if you've crashed, and you've got all this technology, why don't you just go home?"

The Archiver swallowed, feeling that familiar tightness in her throat. "They haven't got a home, Donna. Not anymore." The Doctor and Donna stared at her, the latter seeming almost frightened of her. The former only sad.

"The heaven of Pyrovillia is gone."

"What do you mean, gone? Where's it gone?"

"It was destroyed! Lost to the Asset!" Lucius looked to the Archiver, gritting his teeth at the blankness on her face. "The gods were wronged and seek retribution! There is heat enough in this world for a new species to rise!"

The Doctor reached towards the Archiver's hand, saddened when she only pulled away from him. "Yeah, I should warn you," he hummed, jerking his thumb towards the outer walls. "It's 70 percent water out there!"

"Water can boil and everything will burn, Doctor!"

"Then, the whole planet is at stake." He nodded, winking at Donna. "Thank you, that's all I needed to know. Donna, Archiver, inside!" Once they were all stuffed in the pod – just enough room for the three of them, if a bit close – the Doctor used his sonic screwdriver to shut the hatch.

The Archiver raised a brow at the tool, rather curious by it. But there wasn't time for questions, not just then. She made a note to ask about it later. That and the blue box.

"Could we be any more trapped?" Donna huffed, looking around the enclosed space. Mostly rock, and oh look, the marble circuit boards. Steam filled the pod as the Pyrovile outside tried to get in. "Little bit hot."

The Doctor, though, was focused on the circuits. "See, the energy converter takes the lava, uses the power to create a fusion matrix which welds Pyrovile to human." He fiddled with the motherboard, flipping all the right switches and ignoring the strain of his hearts at what he was doing. "Now it's complete, they can convert millions."

"Can't you change it with these controls?"

Standing back, the Archiver sighed. He'd already figured it out, she could hear it in his voice. That slight tremble, that weight of responsibility and regret and knowing what's right. "Donna, don't you see? There was never a volcano. The Soothsayers could never see what wasn't there."

"What?"

"We can change it, stop the assimilation, but at a cost." She stepped forward, putting her hand on the companion's cheek. "A cost of twenty thousand."

"The Pyrovile are stealing all of the mountain's power. Vesuvius wouldn't erupt without it. But with that power, they'll take control of the planet," The Doctor explained, eyes wild.

Donna whimpered, the truth slowly coming to the forefront. "But you can change it back."

"Well, I can invert the system so that the volcano will blow them up, yes, but…"

"That's the choice, Donna. The choice we have to live with, Pompeii or the world." The Archiver finished when he trailed. She did something then that she hadn't done in centuries, not really. Opening her mind, she brushed along the edge of the Doctor's consciousness, letting him feel her sorrow, her guilt, her pain. Letting him do the same. He wasn't alone in this choice, he didn't have to be.

_"I'm here, Doctor."_

The Doctor nearly wept at the familiar touch of the Archiver's mind. It was always so rare with this Archiver. He pressed his forehead to her temple, savoring the feeling, even as it filled with their ache.

"Oh, my God."

Looking to Donna, his hearts clenched further. She was so scared, so…sad. "If Pompeii is destroyed, then it's not just history. It's me – it's us. The Archiver and I, we make it happen." Only, he didn't want her to have to do it, he didn't want her carry the weight. But she would – she has, and she will. Damnit! He could never protect her, not like he wanted to. Not like she deserved.

He went back to flipping switches and let the soothing brush of the Archiver's mind wash over him.

"But the Pyrovile are made of rocks. Maybe they can't be blown up."

"Vesuvius exploded with the force of 24 nuclear bombs. Nothing can survive it." He paused, closing his eyes in despair. All those memories, gone. The Archiver cut off before she could remember, before she could really experience the life they shared together. "Certainly not us."

"Nevermind us." And really, Donna was truly marvelous in that moment.

The Archiver laced her fingers through the Doctor's on top of the lever. "It ends here, with us." She met the Doctor's gaze, caught by the amount of emotion in his eyes. Emotion he felt for her. Emotion she couldn't unpack, not then – maybe not ever.

"Twenty thousand people…"

The gift of a Time Lord was seeing the universe, of experiencing the greatness of it. It was also the burden of a Time Lord, watching the universe change and die and create madness. They were meant to be observers, but – well, the Doctor never could sit still for long. And the Archiver? She had a few of her own wrongs to right.

This was a moment that was both gift and burden. Thousands of people lost for the sake of millions.

_"Just breathe, Doctor. It'll be okay."_

Just before they were meant to push the lever, Donna's own hands joined theirs. The two Time Lords, awed by this absolutely marvelous little human, could only nod their gratitude. "Together."

Everything shook after that pushed the lever, worse than the Pyrovile steps, worse than the quakes – worse than the Doctor's driving. It was so hot, Archie feared possible burns from the controls and the walls. And then they were flying, tumbling inside the pod from the sheer amount of force that sent them soaring. Only to come crashing down in a heap of limbs and bruises.

"We're…okay?" Donna trembled, knees wobbling as they all stumbled across the rocks.

"Escape pod, remember?" Archie winced, rubbing along her calf. "It was built for that sort of thing." The ground shook again, forcing the trio to look up towards the mountain. Lava spewed from the cap of the volcano, dark clouds of ash rolling towards them at an alarming speed. "Best to swan off now."

She pushed the Doctor and Donna forward to snap them out of their daze, and direct them away from the big cloud of heat and ash coming towards them.

Running through the streets, everyone screaming and panicking, the Archiver did her best to push through. It wasn't fair, she knew, as children were grabbed by their weeping mothers and grown men fell to their knees in despair. She'd gotten rather good at separating herself from the horrors of the universe over the centuries. Whether that was a good or a bad thing…wasn't really for her to decide.

"No! Don't go to the beach! Go to the hills!" Donna tried, yelling at the top of her lungs even at ash coated her mouth. "Listen to me! Don't go to the beach! It's not safe! Listen to me!" She spotted a crying child, all alone, and went to help the poor boy. He was grabbed from her hands a moment later by his mother, screaming at Donna to leave her boy alone.

"C'mon, Donna, we need to go." The Doctor held out his hand, pulling her along as she wept behind him. Occasionally looking back to make sure the Archiver was still following, the Doctor frowned at the hallow expression on her face. It reminded him far to much of Utah, of the defeat she'd felt. The acceptance of her fate. He wouldn't let it happen, he won't.

Finally making it back to the villa, Donna paused next to Caecilius and his family. "Doctor, Archiver, _please_."

The Archiver stopped, looking back at the family with a heavy heart. A once happy, thriving family. A family she'd never really had. She didn't move even as the Doctor swept into the Tardis without pause.

"No! Doctor, you can't!" Donna wept for the huddled family, the family that would die if they didn't do something. "Doctor!"

"Donna," Archie called, nodding at the companion. "Talk to him, change his mind."

Donna blinked, not having expected that from the Archiver, and felt hope surge in her chest. She dashed into the Tardis after the Doctor.

Kneeling beside the family, Archie placed a hand on Evelina's cheek, wiping her tears with her thumb. "You're going to be okay, you will. Just give him a moment. He's a bit stubborn, I've gathered." She started humming her lullaby under her breath, even as glass and marble rained down on them.

*O*O*

"You can't just leave them!" Donna yelled.

And the Doctor, messing with his switches and dials, clenched his jaw. "Don't you think I've done enough? History's back in place and everyone dies." They always die in the end.

"You've got to go back! Doctor, I am telling you, take this thing back!"

He pulled a lever, making the Tardis jerk and rock in the vortex before settling in a drift.

Donna, knowing that she had to convince the Doctor, for the Archiver – who the Doctor had just unknowingly left behind. For Evelina and her family, as well. They were dying, set to be buried in ash. She couldn't let that happen. "It's not fair," she whispered, throat raspy from screaming.

"No, it's not."

"But your own planet," she breathed, remembering what Lucius had said. "It burned."

"That's just it!" The Doctor snapped, turning to Donna with bared teeth and crazed eyes. "Don't you see, Donna? Can't you understand? If I could go back and save them then I would. But I can't!" He paused, tears welling his eyes. Counting to five wasn't working, it wasn't – how did she do it? Close it off? "I can never go back. I can't. I just…I can't."

"Just someone, please Doctor." Donna begged, face wet with sweat and tears and heartache. "Not the whole town. Just save someone." And when he looked at her, really looked at her, Donna felt herself shake from the emotion there.

The emotion of a hopeless man. And she realized how much he truly needed her, needed the Archiver.

*O*O*

The Archiver tried not to choke on the ash, rather appalled by the grains that coated her tongue and knotted her hair. She knew Donna would convince the Doctor, it was only a matter of time. Though, time wasn't exactly on their side – but really, was it ever?

And she couldn't leave them, not here. Not in the wake of her mistakes, of her blindness and cruelty. Evelina, the kind girl with remarkable talents who'd been forced into a way of life. Quintus, a young man with so much potential. Metella, a sorrowful mother. And Caecilius, a father who had only ever wanted to protect his family. Either they would live, by the mercy of the Doctor, or she would suffer with them.

She was okay with that, recalling Lucius' words from the day before. 'Borrowed Air' – Archie was well passed her prime, she knew. Her death had been meant for the fields on Gallifrey. Yet she still breathed, still experienced. It wasn't her choice, and if she could change it…well, she probably would given the chance.

There was still so much she didn't know about what's been happening to her, not the least of which being who forced her regeneration in the first place. Who saved her…she didn't think it was the Doctor.

She looked to Evelina, wrapped in the arms of her family. Scared and feeling so very betrayed by their beliefs, by their gods. Three of them wept, but Caecilius – he'd accepted their fate, she could see it in the way he held his family just a bit tighter.

"He'll come back," she mumbled, meeting Caecilius' eyes. "He will, I know it."

Just as she said the words, there was that sound again. That wheezing beautiful sound – she'd talk to him about the brakes, but honestly it likely wouldn't do much good. Set in his ways, that Doctor. The doors creaked open, and when the Archiver grabbed his hand, she only delighted a small bit in the surprise and anger at the sight of her.

Oh, they would have words later, she was sure.

For now, though, she urged Evelina and her family onto the Tardis. "Come with us, you'll be safe."

Their awe at the bigger-on-the-inside ship was short lived when the Doctor took to the controls again. He flew the Tardis to the hills, a safe distance away to leave the family.

They stood on the hillside, watching the cloud of ash and smoke spread, debris raining down on Pompeii. The Doctor looked to the man beside him, chewing on his next words. "It's never forgotten, Caecilius. Oh, time will pass – man will move on and stories will fade, but one day, Pompeii will be found again. In thousands of years, and everyone will remember you."

Donna stepped forward, a weight settling on her chest at the sight of the city. "What about you, Evelina? Can you see anything?"

The young girl closed her eyes, searching for hints to the future. "The visions have gone."

"The explosion was so powerful, it cracked open a rift in time. Just for a second," the Doctor explained, eyeing the Archiver as she approached the edge of the hill. "That's what gave you the gift of prophecy. It echoed back into the Pyrovillian alternative." He sighed as he watched her, hearts wilting. "But not anymore, you're free."

"But tell me, who are you, Doctor?" Metella asked, tears trailing down her cheeks. "With your words and your temple containing such size within."

"Oh, I was never here. Don't tell anyone," he warned.

"And…your Archiver?"

The Doctor's brow furrowed, following her gaze to the Archiver. She stood at the edge, hands out before her with her palms up. He'd wager her eyes were closed, breaths deep and steady. Humming her song.

"Doctor, what's she doing?" Donna frowned, recognizing the position from back in the villa.

"She's…" he paused, smiling softly at her, creased at the edges with sadness. "She's putting them to sleep."

"She – she's what?"

"All twenty thousand, she's putting them to sleep. As peaceful a sendoff as she can manage." He walked up to the Archiver, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear, trailing his fingers down her cheek. He kissed her temple, gently rousing her from the depths of her mind. "Time to go, Archiver."

She nodded, exhaustion setting in from the effort of spreading her mind so thinly. It was rare and rather straining to stretch to so many other minds, but she could hear their screaming. Their pain and panic. She couldn't stand it, couldn't let them suffer in death. She let the Doctor lead her and Donna to the Tardis, taking one last look at Caecilius and his family.

They'd be okay, and they'd remember.

"Thank you," Donna breathed once they were back in the Tardis. "Really, both of you."

"Yeah," the Doctor said, already flicking switches, eyes trailing to the Archiver. They had some things they needed to talk about, things to clear up, but – she looked so tired then. Or maybe defeated was a better word. "You were right, Donna. Sometimes I need someone…someone who doesn't see the universe the way we do. So, um, welcome aboard."

Donna smiled, for the first time feeling like she belonged with the Doctor…and with the Archiver. She'd been frightened today by the time jumping woman – by her changing face and different names. By the implications made about her involvement with the lost Pyrovillian planet. She had questions, and frankly she deserved answers, but not just then. Not with the way the Doctor was looking at her. "I'm going to…I don't know. I need some time, and a shower." As she passed the two Time Lords, she paused. "Thank you again, Doctor, and…Archiver? We're going to have a talk later about this new face of yours." She winked before turning to follow the lit path the Tardis provided, hopefully leading to her room.

The Doctor fiddled with the Tardis console, glancing back and forth between his hands and the Archiver. When it became clear she wasn't going to be the first one to break the silence, he sighed. "You stayed behind."

"You didn't notice."

"I could have left you there! If I hadn't gone back, if I hadn't listened to Donna…"

"If you hadn't listened to Donna, I wouldn't have wanted to stay with you anyway."

"Y-you what?" His hearts stuttered at the words, even the idea of her not being there, of choosing to leave…he'd let her go, if that was what she really wanted. He hoped she never wanted that.

Pushing her hands into her pockets, the Archiver met the Doctor's eyes steadily. "You're oddly traditional for a Time Lord who breaks the laws created by our people so often."

He looked away, tugging his ear. "Yes, well…"

"Pompeii was – is a fixed point. We couldn't have saved those people," the Archiver continued, stepping closer to the Doctor. "It's always the 'how' of it all that gets in the way."

"And you see the 'how', I know."

"Yes, well – sometimes anyway. Bit finnicky." She paused, words bobbing in her throat. "You were always meant to be there to pull that lever. And that's not your fault."

Shaking his head, because he knew where she was going with this, the Doctor gripped one of the nearest railings. "Oh, but it's your fault then? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes."

He grit his teeth, that black spot of anger flaring along the wall of his hearts. Not at her, never at her, but at what his people – the people he missed dearly and still, despite it all, wished he could bring back – had done to her. To many others like her. "Whatever they made you do, that wasn't on you."

"The Pyrovile were in Pompeii because I destroyed their planet, made it uninhabitable for them – and probably for anyone else down the line." She looked down at her hand, flexing the fingers beneath the glove and curling it into a fist. "It was just a disintegrating rock when I left, getting smaller and smaller with every orbit around its sun. I doubt it's there at all anymore."

"It wasn't –"

"They were an assimilating race, like a virus," she interrupted, lost in the memories. "The beasts we saw in Pompeii…they were starting over. Base structure, still a tad too barbaric and angry. When I destroyed them, they were a civilization, growing and learning as any other." Releasing her fist, she watched her fingers shake. Always shaking. "I was told they were a threat, and that they needed to be dealt with."

The Doctor grabbed her hand, thumb tracing the plain of her palm. "You're not responsible for what the Asset was ordered to do."

"I _am_ the Asset."

"Wrong." He touched his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. Enjoying the calming aura of her mind against his own. "_You_ are the Archiver." Swaying back and forth, the Doctor smiled, a little secret in the rock of his feet. "Dance with me, sweetheart!"

Pulling her along, he twirled his Archiver, smile widening as she laughed tentatively. One of his favorite sounds, that laugh – this one probably the best of them all, rare as it was. He bounced in a rather silly fashion, spinning and tapping and holding her close when he got the chance. And there they danced, chest to chest, swaying to the beat of the other's hearts. Soft, calm, and just a little lighter.

The Tardis hummed beneath their feet.

*O*O*

She'd forced the Doctor to clean up and get some sleep a few hours ago, after successfully teaming up with the Tardis. It'd been too long for him, she could tell. Weeks maybe. And while Time Lords could last a dozen or more days without sleep, that didn't mean it was unimportant. That he wasn't hurting himself by refusing to sleep.

And maybe she was being a bit of a hypocrite, but she didn't particularly feel like sleeping. In part because she wasn't quite sure what that might entail. Would she find red trainers and extra pin-stripe suit jackets on the iron wrack? Spare glasses and jars of hair gel on her work bench? A body to share the bed with? She wasn't ready to find out.

It hadn't been very long since her last rem cycle anyway. Sure, her mind was a tad spent from putting Pompeii to rest, but sleep wasn't the way to remedy that kind of exhaustion. Meditation would be the quick fix, but really she just needed to let her mind relax.

She'd taken to wondering the Tardis. So far she'd found half a dozen bathrooms, a screening room, two pools, a few guest rooms – clearly occupied at some point – and the library. If she wasn't careful, Archie was sure she'd get lost in the shelves. She continued down the halls, occasionally knocking her knuckles against the metal walls. A bit distracted really, thinking about dancing with the Doctor earlier.

Eventually, she decided to head back towards the console room – the Doctor would likely be up soon and she wanted to spend some time fixing the bugs in her glove in silence – only to come across a door she was sure hadn't been there the first go-around. Looking up, she huffed under her breath and grinned. "Cheeky ship."

The door was a lighter gray metal than the surrounding walls. Clean, with no rust or scratches of any kind. No handle either, so maybe more of a hatch than a door. And engraved into the center was the Gallifreyan sigil for 'Archives'. Raising a finger to trace along the embedded symbol, the Archiver stopped before touching the metal. "Must be that studio you mentioned – will mention. Oh, you really are cheeky."

Just as her finger brushed the surface of the door, a soft blue light traced along the lines until it filled the entire symbol and it slid open with a low whoosh of air. She took a deep breath before stepping inside.

"There's no windows," she noticed right away, which wasn't _that_ surprising considering the nature of the ship, but even her bedroom had an artificial view. The floor was a dark wood with little give beneath her steps. Turning in a slow circle, Archie realized how incredibly _big_ the room was. Two stories of walls lined with bookshelves, an iron platform at the midpoint for simpler access she supposed. There were nearly a dozen sliding ladders scattered along the railings.

Floating balls of light created a warm glow – and she literally meant floating. They drifted through the air like bubbles at varying heights, bouncing off each other despite their not so solid appearance.

Walking up to the nearest shelf, Archie pulled out a book with a pale pink color and a single thin black stripe down the spine. Old looking with raw edges and what might have been a tea stain in the corner, it had no other discernible markings on the front or spine besides the stripe, so she flipped to the first page. It was handwritten – in English strangely enough.

_Downing Street with Rose Tyler and Nine_

_Acceptable Readers:_

_Archiver 7 – Post Krafayis_

_Archiver 8_

Slamming the journal shut – because it certainly was a journal, one of her own – she replaced it on the shelf and took deep measured breaths. "Okay, much more than a studio." Taking several steps back from the shelf, she noticed gaps in the book spacing. It was like…like bits missing from a timeline. Her own timeline. The entire first floor of shelves seemed to be filled with leather books of a similar nature, though with some varying colors and either one, two, or three stripes. Some journals were clearly hundreds of pages long – a few tied together with twine, probably meant to be a set – while others were disarmingly short. And sometimes ornate boxes with similar colors and labels, more intricate in design, broke the pattern. She imagined they contained knickknacks or souvenirs.

Shaking her head, the Archiver stepped to the closest ladder and made her way up to the second level. Every space on this floor was filled, and not a single box. Every journal was black, no stripes or telling details. She plucked one from the shelf and flipped to the first page. It was written in Gallifreyan.

_Krillitanes with the Pierce Twins_

She dropped the book, bracing herself on the railing as she tried to catch her breath. These books, they were her life. Not just with the Doctor, but all of it. Maybe from the very beginning – which was dangerous, so incredibly _fucking_ dangerous. What had she been thinking, documenting her knowledge like this? If anyone, _anyone_, got ahold of these books and found a way to translate them…even if it was the Doctor –

Archie shook her head, kneeling down to grab the journal and put it back on the shelf. She was clearly the only one who could get in, based on the manner it took to open the door at all. The Tardis would protect this place, just as Jitterbug had done for her centuries ago.

It was weird though, that she had taken the risk to write it all down. She understood keeping track of her timeline with the Doctor, especially considering her unreliable memory at the moment, but the rest? One of her versions must have been seriously sentimental to do it.

Pausing a moment, the Archiver looked through a few of the others surrounding the Krillitane journal – or one of them anyway, there was bound to be a couple more around. Resilient creatures, the Krillitanes. Blinking when she noticed more 'adventures' with the Pierce siblings, she started counting, moving along the shelf until she spotted a book that seemed a little out of place.

Black as all the others, only…not. Maybe the oldest looking one – the first of the collection? But, no that wouldn't have been her first memories. Not in that placement. The book was almost gray, the leather having faded and scuffed, and there was a clear line in the dust along the shelf. So, she looked at the book often, she supposed. A memory she loved…or hated.

She knew what it was and put it back, fingers lingering on the spine.

Once back on the ground floor – although did 'ground' even exist in a Tardis? – the Archiver made her way towards the desk in the very center of the room. The set up was rather simple. An iron framed desk and cozy-looking pale blue chair, cushioned with a small pillow for her back. She sat down.

There was a variety of writing equipment. An inkwell and quill at the far left. A typewriter front and center. A cup of ballpoint pens. And a stack of charcoal peaking out from their canvas wrappings. In one of the drawers was a stack of cream parchment. Another held bookbinding materials, including the different colors of leather for the covers. There was also a side table filled with unfinished works and a bin labeled 'to be filed later'. She wondered who might get the honor.

Breathing in slowly, the Archiver looked to one of the floating lights near her head. "I guess it's my turn then," she sighed and reached for a ballpoint pen, moving the typewriter aside for a fresh slip of parchment.

She remembered her time with the Dalek in Utah. She remembered meeting Amelia Pond and Rory Williams a second time. And she remembered Pompeii.

She started writing.


End file.
